Hot Nights in Houston
by Lopsided Whiskey Grin
Summary: What starts out as a steamy chance encounter between a sexy blue-collar window washer and a successful Deputy DA takes a startling turn when one man's past makes an unexpected reappearance. Will Sam and Dean's fledgling relationship be strong enough to grow into something deeper? Will the two be able to keep their hands off of each other long enough to even be bothered to care?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is another collab effort between me and why-yes-i-do-like-that-show. You can find both of us on Tumblr, under the same user names! The cover art used for this story is a mock romance cover that I designed for this story ^u^ Enjoy!

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><p>The midafternoon sun beat down mercilessly on Dean Smith's back as he ran the soapy brush over the window, corner to corner and then top to bottom. Thirty floors up and no breeze, Dean thought he was going to melt before he got to his last floor. He dropped the brush in the bucket, leaning the long handle against the railing of his suspended scaffold and then reached for the squeegee. He could feel the sweat dripping from his neck and down his back as he pressed the squeegee against the glass moving slowly from left to right from top to bottom, the water sloshing down to the next floor.<p>

He looked at his reflection in the clean tinted glass and grimaced. His dirty blond hair was plastered to his head and his shirt was soaked at the underarms and the center of his chest where the buckle of his harness met. He was sure he had a matching wet spot across his back. He was not going to make it five more floors in this heat and he hoped the guys were enjoying their time in the shade. How he drew the west side of their afternoon building,_ again_, was a mystery. He was starting to think the straws were rigged.

After wiping his brow with a rag, he pushed on the control handle, moved down another floor and opened his water bottle. It wasn't all that cold anymore, but as he reached the twenty-ninth floor and stopped the scaffold, he decided on a better use of the water. Unbuckling the chest portion of his harness and leaning back against the rail, he peeled his damp shirt from his overheated skin, bent at the waist and let the water trickle over his neck and muscular shoulders.

He yelped at the temperature difference and tossed his head back laughing. The instant cool pulled goosebumps from his skin and he ran a hand over his chest to wipe the excess away, his nipple a pebble against his palm. He tipped the bottle once more right over his head, the water cascading through this hair and down his face. Chuckling again and feeling refreshed, he shook his head like a wet dog before setting the bottle aside and refastening his harness. He'd put his shirt back on, but not until the next floor; his naked wet skin was so much more comfortable.

Sam Wesson stood beside his desk, a cup of forgotten coffee in his hand, staring slack-jawed at the ruggedly sexy man just outside his office window. He had been working at this law firm long enough to hardly pay any attention to the window washers that came by every six months anymore, but this one? Christ, just the first glimpse Sam had caught of him over his shoulder when he had pulled to a stop on his floor was enough to send all the blood rushing from his head straight down to his dick. And when the man on the scaffold outside, with hot summer sunlight sparking off the tips of his dusky hair and highlighting the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose and shoulders, pulled his shirt off and doused himself with half a bottle of water, Sam very nearly came in his slacks.

He cleared his throat, hooking a finger behind the knot of his tie to loosen the suddenly restrictive slip of fabric, then reached down to adjust the uncomfortable bulge growing in his boxers. Suddenly self-conscious that someone passing beside his office would see him in such an obvious state of arousal, Sam whipped his head to the door behind him and sighed when he saw that it was closed. He turned back to the window after setting his now cold coffee on his desk, deciding to indulge himself in the sight of the half-naked window washer before him a little longer. His coffee refill could wait.

The man reached up with his brush, spreading sudsy water across the window, utterly oblivious to anyone on the other side of the glass, and Sam groaned as the rigid muscles at the man's side bunched and flexed with the movement. He moved closer to the window, helplessly drawn to the image before him, his hand, seemingly of its own accord, reaching down to the front of his trousers again to palm against his hardening cock.

After the man had coated the window in soap, he began to swipe the squeegee across it. His whole body seemed to tighten as he did so, each muscle moving in a steely ripple, his skin pinkening and glowing from the shimmering heat around him. It was suddenly far too much for Sam. He glanced back to the door, noting that it was still closed, and moved a little closer to the window, trying to undo his belt as quickly as possible. But his fingers, trembling and numb with excitement, fumbled the buckle and his hand slipped off, thumping loudly against the glass pane before him. He froze, immediately mortified.

The beautiful man on the scaffold too stood frozen for a moment before leaning his cupped face to the window to peer in at him. Sam took a reflexive step back and looked down to rebuckle his belt, but a responding knock pulled his eyes back to the window.

Dean was pointing at Sam and then himself in turns with one hand and making the universal "jerking off" motion with the other, asking. His eyes were sparkling, the color obscured by the tint but pale nonetheless, and he had a half smile pulling at his full lips. Sam was sure his eyes were betraying him and he flushed deep at being caught. Would a window washer really be okay with what Sam was about to do? Weren't they all beefy roughnecks like construction workers? Apparently not this one.

Sam hid his face behind his hands for a moment, sheepishly nodding, and then chuckled as Dean did a victory dance, his swaggering making the hanging scaffold wobble. He laughed again when, after a moment of panic, Dean grabbed the rail to save himself from tipping out.

Dean was stoked now. In the years that he'd worked construction and maintenance, he'd been oogled by many women but only a few men. The thought of a free show from that mountain of a man with shaggy hair and puppy eyes made him a bit delirious. He leaned in to make sure the man on the inside hadn't walked away before gesturing again. This time he tried to ask if anyone was near them and, when he was sure that Sam was alone, he leaned against the window, his forearm now blocking the sun, trailed his fingers from his still hard nipple to his belly button and then gestured for Sam to continue.

Sam swallowed thickly, bringing his trembling hands back to his belt buckle, finally undoing it properly, all the while asking himself if this was really happening.

He had never been an exobitionist, far from it in fact, and was mostly shy and modest when it came to sex. But the handsome onlooker watching him with that intense gaze seemed to effectively evaporate any shame or embarrassment Sam had been holding onto at the thought of masturbating in front of a total stranger.

Drawing his zipper down, Sam slowly tugged his boxers down enough for his hardened cock to spring free. It bobbed up toward his stomach, aching and fully engorged and Sam wasted no time in bringing his hand up to spit into his palm.

He kept his eyes locked on the man outside the window as he wrapped his hand around his dick, slowly coating the entire length of it with his own saliva and rubbing the edge of his thumb through the precome oozing from the head. He pumped his hand down his shaft and then back up with a delicious twisting motion that he loved the best and felt his toes curl in his shoes.

Dean's mouth fell slack for a moment at the sight. Dress slacks open just at the fly and leaning back on the desk, inside man was breathtaking in his slow twisting strokes. The warmth of the afternoon was nothing compared to the heat pooling below his belt and he used his free hand to adjust himself through his jeans, the leg straps of the harness highlighting his growing bulge.

He smirked at the man's reaction to his movements, clenched teeth and hard tug in answer to Dean touching himself. Dean ran his forefinger over his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and dragging it out slowly to run his tongue over the tip. He wondered what his partner in crime would taste like as he did it again, this time nibbling before suckling the digit. He saw a shudder race through the professional, his own dick jerking in response.

He lifted his head from his arm long enough to glance around, figuring that at this height no one would see him, but found another wash crew one building over. Pressing his eyes to his forearm in frustration, he cursed to himself but grabbed his hard cock through his jeans anyway. Breathing through his mouth, imaging the man's scent crossing his tongue, Dean squeezed tightly and watched Sam's strokes pick up speed.

Sam's pulse was thundering in his ears from the rapid twists of his slick fist and he felt a tremor shake through his whole body as he watched the man outside squeezing at his bulging package. Sam brought his free hand up, pointer and middle fingers slipping past his lips, absently mimicking the man's previous movements.

Dean's quickening breaths momentarily fogged the window he'd just cleaned as he continued kneading and squeezing at his throbbing dick through his jeans, feeling his lower gut tighten up even more when the business man began running his fingers over and under his tongue.

Sam was suddenly struck with an image, shocking in its clarity, of the man outside on his knees with Sam's dick pushing past his plush lips, pumping into his mouth deep enough to make the man gag and choke around the intrusion. The vivid fantasy was finally enough to shove Sam over the edge of completion. His back bowed with the shattering force of the orgasm that suddenly ripped through him as he sat on the edge of his desk and he let out a strangled groan, watching with fascination as long, pearly strings of white fluid shot from his cock with enough force to splatter thickly against the window before him.

Watching the cum splash onto the window and drip lazily down the glass pulled Dean to completion as well. His mind's eye imagining his stomach and chest coated in the sticky mess pummeled him brutally as sudden and overwhelming pleasure crashed through his body, wetness filling his boxers.

Shaking and boneless now, he thumped his head against the glass in exhaustion and grabbed the rail for support. He could almost hear the other man laughing through the thick window and a smile kissed Dean's own lips.

He cupped his face again and saw the man had turned his back to him and was writing at his desk. He jumped and almost fell backwards when his walkie-talkie chirped at him.

"Base to Dean," Benny's voice crackled. He grabbed the radio from its place at the control handle and squawked back his go-ahead.

"You okay up there?" Benny sounded concerned. "You've been on that floor for a while. I can't see you but I can see your scaffold." Dean snickered at that and answered Benny as another knock at the glass made him lean in again.

"I got a little overheated, brother," Dean admitted. "I was just taking a breather. How'd I get the west side again?" He jerked his head back when he realized what he was looking at - a phone number written in large black marker with the name "SAM" under it.

"Hot damn!" he yelped and swapped the walkie-talkie for his cell, saving the number and then shooting a quick text with his own name. He leaned in and watched as Sam got the text, blushed and then replied:

**i better clean my side of the window huh dean**

_if you need help cleaning anything else just let me know. im free at 6_

**ill meet you in the lobby then**

Sam laughed again as Dean did another victory dance before giving Sam a thumbs up, a wave and moved his scaffold down to the next floor, a deliriously happy grin on his face the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

Six o'clock really could not come fast enough for Sam. He had floated through the rest of the day after his amazing encounter with Dean earlier that afternoon, constantly getting distracted by the memory of it.

He took care of his work as best he could manage, the excitement of meeting Dean face to face without the barrier of plate glass between them building and building so much that by five-thirty he was a veritable bundle of nervous energy. But somewhere along the line his eagerness had begun to morph into apprehension the closer he got to the end of the work day, effectively sabotaged by Sam's overthinking brain; it was honestly the cause of many of his past failed relationships.

Nagging doubts and insecurities that spoke to imagined faults on his part was something Sam had been trying very hard to fix since his college days and he had been getting better at quieting those irrationalities, but he couldn't stop worrying now about the impression he might have made earlier. Had he been too hasty in giving Dean his number? Had he been too hasty in pulling his _dick_ out in front of a guy he didn't even know? Christ, he still couldn't believe he had done that; he had just felt like he absolutely could not help himself in that moment.

Shaking his head, Sam blew out a shaky, pent up breath and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly aware that he was about to talk himself out of this date before it had even started. He had changed so much since his sophomore year, but old habits die hard._ Everything is going to be fine, so just stop it_, he thought to himself, _Dean seemed to be enjoying himself as much as I did. Let's just see where this goes before you get all freaked out, Sam, okay?_

He nodded firmly, brushing aside his doubts, before straightening his tie and exiting his office with his bag slung over his right shoulder. Finally making his way down to the lobby, muttering encouragements to himself the entire time, Sam came to a stop after he had stepped out of the elevator. He glanced around, pretty sure he looked nonchalant about it, trying to pick Dean out in the rush of people leaving the firm for the day. His heart rate kicked up when he didn't see him anywhere, suddenly indignant that he'd been stood up.

Dean and his car both growled at the red light, the fourth in a row, and he checked his watch again. He was running late and was now worried Sam would leave without him. Of course Garth picked today to ask for a lift home. How do you say "no" to the sweet goofball without feeling like douche of the year? You don't, that's how. But Dean had showered and changed in record time, the occasion called for a polo and khakis, and was just one light away from his date.

He'd spent the last few hours of work on autopilot, the memory of Sam's chiseled features and pointed jawline crumbling as he came floated to the surface with an amusing frequency. Whipping his dick out like that for him was so brazen but Sam's initial shy compliance was intriguing. Dean's time spent behind a desk had taught him that there were two types of professionals: those that are all about the kink and those that want to be all about the kink but didn't know it yet. As he finally pulled his baby into a parking space, he wondered what side of that fence the fluffy haired guy would fall on.

_All about that kink I hope_, Dean thought as he spotted Sam walking out of the building. His stomach did a small flip-flip at the sight of him and he practically jogged to catch him, calling his name as he crossed the parking lot. The guy was tall, taller than him even and at six foot one that was saying something. Suddenly he was anxious to get Sam home and naked; he licked his lips in anticipation.

But Dean's lecherous thoughts skid to a stop when he saw Sam's face, an impatient grimace that immediately bloomed into an insecure smile. His watery hazel eyes were the most endearing he'd ever seen, the softness over his brows and his shaggy brown bangs making him seem younger than he had earlier in the day. Dean felt a tug of guilt for making him wait, accidentally or not, the urgent need to make it right forcing Dean to reach out and lay a gentle hand on Sam's arm uninvited.

Sam quickly blinked back the mildly resentful tears crowding his eyes, another habit he couldn't shake, and was momentarily struck speechless by the electric connection sparking through him at that first contact. He drew his gaze up slowly from where Dean's hand still lay on his arm, centering it on Dean's eyes, stunned by the vibrant shade of green staring back up at him. Without the barrier of tinted glass and blinding backlighting, Sam was able to take in and truly admire the beauty that was this mysterious window washer. His short, dusky hair stuck up off his forehead, styled with a perfect amount of carelessness, and the hard edge of his chin was sanded with a sexy dusting of stubble, contrasting beautifully against the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," Dean said, squeezing Sam's arm lightly before dropping his hand down to his side. "Getting back here was a bitch."

Sam nodded slowly, forcing an understanding smile, and chastising himself for believing that Dean had purposefully stood him up. He had felt undesirable for so long that it was still easy to forget that someone might genuinely be attracted to him. Dean watched the irritation dissipate from Sam's handsome features with relief and decided to move a bit backwards before moving forward, a dazzling smile lighting up his face.

"How 'bout we rewind here a little bit?" Dean's eyes shone brilliantly like sunlight glinting off cut seaglass and he held his hand out to Sam. "Hi, I'm Dean Smith."

Sam found Dean's smile contagious as he grasped his outstretched hand, giving it two professional pumps. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dean. I'm Sam. Sam Wesson."

Dean's grin broadened beautifully and Sam felt a curious flutter tickle low in his belly. He brought a hand up, rubbing across the back of his neck and chuckled out a nervous little laugh as the early evening summer sun beat down on the both of them.

Dean glanced away for a moment, swiping at a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek, then looked back up at Sam. "Maybe we should get out of this heat. I know a great brewery downtown that has some kickass burgers. How does that sound?"

"That sounds amazing," Sam replied, letting the last of the anxiety wash away, "As long as they serve kickass salads too."

"Rabbit food?" Dean asked with a laugh, taking a few steps backwards and gesturing for Sam to follow. "You're gonna need your strength later. I'm not sure a bunch of lettuce is gonna be enough."

Quicker than Dean could register, Sam was on him, chest to chest with a large hand at the small of his back, pressing him into Sam's firm chest. "I do just fine on rabbit food. I promise." Sam rubbed the tip of Dean's nose with his own, his eyes darting to Dean's lips, before letting the shorter man free and nodding towards the lot. He casually slid a hand into his slacks pocket and stepped away towards the cars, the very model of detached confidence. "Which one is yours?"

Dean stood slack jawed for a moment, a new habit Sam Wesson was creating in him, before breaking out in a crooked grin, pointing to his baby as he caught up to Sam's long steps.

"See that mint condition '67 Chevy Impala?" Dean asked proudly, digging his keys back out of his pocket. "That's the baby that is taking us for burgers. Oh, and salad," he conceded, holding his palms up in surrender after seeing the playful look Sam shot him. "I'm dying to see what healthy living has in store for me later." He winked at Sam and unlocked the passenger side door.

A heated coil of arousal settled low in Sam's gut as he folded himself into the seat and he had to shift a couple times to accommodate the swelling in his pants. He willed away the warmth chasing across his cheeks and glanced over at Dean as he settled into the driver's seat and started the car.

Sam cleared his throat and looked away as Dean maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. "So, how did you find out about this place?" he asked. He had been diligent about limiting how often he went out to eat and he didn't really know much about the restaurants around town.

"What, Rock Bottom?" Dean asked, pulling his eyes from the road for a moment to look over at Sam. " I've been there a couple times since I started working for the window washing service. It's just a chain restaurant, but it's really close to where most of my jobs are and they have a pretty decent selection of beers on tap that they brew right there in house."

They kept an easy chatter as Dean maneuvered his car though late afternoon traffic. It was light for a Friday night and he figured they must be in the valley between the "after work" and the "before the club" diners. That meant that his favorite table would probably be open. Friday night at Rock Bottom mean $15 micro buckets and the weekly beer pong tournament. Winner gets a free appetizer and you can't beat free.

Dean listened to Sam chatter about his mom's Roadhouse Bar & Grill and his dad's attempt at brewing. He liked the sound of Sam's voice, enough baritone for Dean to imagine husky whispers but with a lightness that spoke to his laid back disposition. Sam was a big man, filling in most of the space in the front seat of Dean's baby, but he had moved with a surprisingly silent grace as they had walked across the parking lot. If he hadn't watched Sam step to the door with him, Dean would have expected to enter the restaurant alone.

Their beer discussion came an abrupt halt as they spotted the beer pong sign and Sam's face lit up with excitement.

"Dude," he started, " I was beer pong champ for my frat. Do you play?"

"Do I play?" Dean asked in faux disbelief. "Man, I won this thing three weekends in a row last month. Deal us in, Darla." Dean nodded to the bartender as the hostess lead them to Dean's usual table. The hightop was situated between the bar and the patio with a perfect view of the beer pong tables and most of the televisions. Sam watched, more than a bit impressed and amused, as Dean effortlessly flirted with the waitress, earning them a free bucket of micros.

"So you're a frat, huh?" Dean asked when the waitress walked away. "I was Beta back in the day."

"No way! _I'm_ Beta," Sam exclaimed, throwing up the hand sign. "University of South Dakota. You?"

Dean felt a bit intoxicated when Sam got excited. Something about this guy was making Dean crazy and he hadn't even had a beer yet. "KU Jayhawks," Dean answered, nostalgia and Sam making him glow. "I grew up in Lawrence, Kansas. Been forcing kids to chug beer since I was a teenager. We are so cleaning up tonight." He reached across the table and grabbed Sam's hand, running his thumb across the taller man's palm.

Sam stiffened for a moment at the contact, feeling a full-body shiver make its way from his toes all the way up to buzz around in his head before travelling back down his spine. "Yeah, I uh, I think you mentioned something about cleaning up earlier," Sam said, leaning toward Dean, voice pitched low. He drug his gaze up slowly from their joined hands, fueled by his newfound forwardness, and drug his tongue across his bottom lip.

Dean's pupils dilated considerably and he opened his mouth, about to say something in response, but was cut off by their waitress coming back to the table with their bucket of assorted microbrews. His mouth snapped shut and a sideways grin played at his lips as the waitress asked if they were ready to order.

Sam pulled his hand back gently to grab up a menu and glance over the options while Dean put in for his usual burger; Medium rare, double bacon, nix the lettuce and tomato. Sam's mouth watered a little at the sound of it, mostly just from the heavy timbre of Dean's voice more than anything, and he let the waitress know he'd have the Cobb salad with his dressing on the side.

Dean fished two beers from their bucket, cracking them both open and handing one over to Sam. They sat quietly for a moment, sipping from the frosty long-neck bottles. Dean let his eyes roam over Sam, studying him for a moment. He was looking out the window at his side, the last of the day's dying light splashing his angular face in a prismatic wash of soft reds and yellows and pinks. Sam brought his beer up, pulling off a long, slow draught and Dean was instantly mesmerized by the slide and dip of Sam's Adam's apple as his throat worked to swallow. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to push aside the table between them and lick a thick wet stripe up that long corded neck.

He instead blinked rapidly when he realized Sam had asked him a question. "Come again?" he asked.

Sam immediately choked on his own spit at Dean's choice of words and he coughed a few times before he finally caught his breath enough to repeat himself. "I just asked why you decided to move here? For your job?"

Dean took another pull from his beer and made a show of letting his eyes pass over Sam's lips again. He needed to buy himself a few moments to choose his words. He should have been ready for that question, it always came up eventually, but he just didn't expect it quite so soon. He usually didn't care what his dates thought about his past, male or female. He'd even used his darker days on a few occasions to land a partner or two in bed. But something about Sam's guileless eyes and sweet smile made Dean hesitate with the honest information, the fear of disappointing him again making him cautious. He set his beer on the table and began to tally the truths and the lies.

"Well sort of," he started, "I got bored with the desk job" _(truth)_ "and wanted to try something different." _(truth)_ "I sort of missed manual labor from my construction days." (_lie)_ "I worked with my dad on the weekends on remodels while in college, ya know." _(truth)_ "I guess I just fell into washing windows for my buddy when I needed a break from the big time architect thing." _(half truth but mostly lie)_ Honestly, Benny had done him a favor letting him join his company after his stint in prison. No architectural firm would hire him now, not with a felony conviction on his record. But Dean would rather spend the rest of his life shining shoes than making the same god awful mistakes. He was never going darkside again.

"What about you?" Dean asked, taking the heat off of himself. "What are the odds that two midwestern frat boys would meet in the middle of Houston?"

Sam chuckled and shook his head in mutual disbelief. Dean wondered for the first time that night if maybe he and Sam would have been friends back in those college days, if they could still be friends when this hookup was over. Dean wasn't the kind of person that formed lasting attachments easily, especially because of his past, but with Sam, just in the few short hours he'd known him, he knew how damn easy it would be for him to fall. Hell, he could already feel himself heading in that direction more and more with each earnest smile Sam directed his way.

Sam's chuckles faded after a moment and he looked down at the bottle in his hand, absently wiping a few beads of condensation away with the pad of his thumb. The movement, as innocuous as it was, sent an electric bolt of desire skipping straight down to Dean's cock. He took a deep gulp of his beer, whetting his suddenly dry throat, and waited quietly for Sam to speak.

"I don't know what the odds are, but I'm guessing they're not that high," Sam said thoughtfully. "Houston, originally, was never part of the plan."

At Dean's somewhat confused smile, Sam elaborated, "I got my degree in criminal law from USD, and even though I'd graduated at the top of my class," Sam glanced away, blushing slightly at the boasting nature of his college achievements, but reminded himself that those achievements were a direct result of his hard work and continued, "I never dreamed I would find a job so far away from my hometown and in a city that was so big. I just figured I'd set up my own practice where I grew up. But I had always had my heart set on working for a District Attorney's Office." He paused for a moment, his jaw working tensely, before he said, "My little sister, Jo, was the real reason for that. She was the victim of senseless crime and never got the justice she deserved. I vowed to never let something like that happen again if there was a way I could stop it."

Dean turned his head away and drew his brows together in a sympathetic grimace Sam had been on the receiving end of countless times in those dark days and he decided to steer the conversation back to a less heartbreaking topic. Sam missed the anxiety as it crept across Dean's face, it vanished so quickly.

He coughed to clear his throat and began again. "So anyways, I got a call from Castiel Novak, the DA down at the Harris County CJC, the building you washed today, extending an invitation for an internship position right after I graduated and aced the LSATs. I jumped at the chance and when I got here and totally smashed the Bar, I was offered a full time position as a deputy DA before I even had 6 months of volunteer hours under my belt. I've been the top prosecutor for this county ever since."

Dean paled slightly, glad he'd held back, and Sam immediately felt a flare of regret burn through him for playing himself up so much. He was about to go on a somewhat customary self-deprecating jag when Dean broke into a beautiful crooked grin. Others had been intimidated by Sam's success but Dean seemed to embrace it, something Sam was not quite expecting.

"Looks like I caught myself a Boy Scout. Good for you, man!" he said brightly, reaching his hand across the table again to squeeze Sam's warmly. "You definitely kicked my ass in the credentials category, Sammy."

Pride instantly took the place of his momentary regret, both from the praise and the pet name, and Sam returned Dean's wide grin with one of his own just as the waitress brought out their food.

Dean picked up a fry, pointing it at Sam who was spearing a few leaves of lettuce on his fork, before chomping down half of the deep fried potato. "Okay, that's all totally awesome, and I'm being completely serious," he said as he chewed, "But you still haven't told me the most interesting thing yet."

Sam looked up from his plate and cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy and Dean's heart did a somersault. He shoved a couple more fries in his mouth and picked up his burger, motioning toward Sam's salad with it. "Why the rabbit food?"

Sam spoke around his first bite, "Not all of us have the luxury of working manual labor in the summer heat by choice. Some of us actually have make an effort for these muscles." Sam laughed at Dean's indignant face but continued, "Y'know, _Sammy_ is a chubby 12 year old, well a chubby college freshman actually. _Sam,_" he stressed, pressing a hand to his chest, "has lost about a hundred pounds between his bachelor's and his bar exam. It's hard work but worth it," Sam tipped his chin low and smirked at Dean, the other's mouth full of bacon and ground beef, "Because I get to bang hot window washers in my spare time."

It was Dean's turn to flush and fluster at the attention, coughing as he choked on his bite. How Sam went from sweet charm to smoldering sexuality was staggering and Wonderboy's performance before the tinted glass suddenly fell into place. His shy and bashful start all the way to his magnificent finish had been breathtaking in its simple sensuality and Dean figured Sam's weight was probably the cause. He wondered for moment if the man had had to defend himself against bullies as often as Dean himself did. Kids are as cruel to the fat kids in town as they are to the poor kids. But fat kids with a dead sister?

The kid (his puppy dog eyes and tad-too-long hair earned him that internal label from Dean) was something else for sure. He'd accomplished so much in such a short time and Dean felt genuine pride for him, his heart giving another tumble. _Dammit, the night was not supposed to go like this_, Dean chastised himself. _Get in, get out, move on._ Getting involved with a DA, junior or not, wasn't in the cards for a man like Dean. But, as he watched Sam compliment the salad to the waitress and take another swig of his microbrew, Dean was pretty sure tonight's romp was going to leave him wanting more. When was the last time he'd felt that way? Never, that's when. And he wasn't about to pass up on something like that.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>We really hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! We have big plans ahead for these boys, so stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

Sam pushed back from the table after the waitress had taken their empty plates, satisfyingly full but not overly stuffed, and set his credit card right alongside Dean's when they decided they'd go dutch. Once their bill was settled and tips doled out, Dean gestured Sam toward the beer pong table that had been set up at the rear of the restaurant with a gentle guiding hand at the small of his back, right above the swell of his ass.

Sam trembled with the sudden rush of want that flooded through him at the touch and he swallowed _hard_, deciding then and there that he wanted to get through this game as quickly as he could, win or lose, just so he could get into Dean's bed as soon as physically possible.

Dean came to a stop at one end of the long table that was already set up with red solo cups and Sam stepped to his side, coming up close enough that their hips touched. Dean glanced up at him, a sexy sideways grin ticking up the corner of his mouth, and held his hand out toward Sam, presenting the two ping pong balls nestled in his palm.

"Blow on 'em for good luck," he said, voice pitched low and dripping with sex.

Sam turned toward him, brushing the front of his slacks against Dean's hip as he did. "You want me to blow on your balls?" he husked, heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Dean nodded and lifted his hand closer to Sam's mouth, his eyes a glinting a deep hunter green in the low light of the restaurant. Sam canted his head forward and pursed his lips, blowing out a gentle stream of air that washed warmly over Dean's hand. Dean inched his eyes up slowly, a tic bunching at the back of his jaw, looking more kissable and fuckable than ever before and Sam leaned even closer, intending on finally getting a taste of that gorgeous mouth, but drew back quickly when their beer pong opponents finally approached the table.

A pair of giggling party girls stood opposite them, each in tight jeans and spaghetti strap tank-tops. Dean had seen them before and knew they played dirty, using cleavage to their advantage against unsuspecting players. As Dean watched the blondes sizing up Sam, his dress shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, he chuckled at the hopeful whispering and nodding going back and forth. He was pretty sure the two of them made for a spectacular view from the girls' side of the table, with the jawlines and the hair, but he was also pretty sure the girls were going down in the first round. And not in the fun way.

When he turned back to Sam, Dean was greeted by a knowing smirk as Sam raised his eyebrows in early celebration. He'd come to the same conclusion as Dean and was more than ready to get the show on the road. After having his first kiss interrupted and then being oogled like a juicy steak, Sam was feeling a bit more competitive than he thought appropriate. He let Dean watch him nibble his bottom lip for a moment before turning his boyish charm on the girls.

"Alright ladies, are we doing this with or without bounce?" Sam called across the table, his dimpled smile garnering a fresh spat of giggles. Dean hid his laughter behind a hand when the poor girl on the left tipped her body forward and dipped her shoulders, ample bosom threatening to spill out already.

"If you like the bounce," she flirted back, "then bounce it is." She gave her friend a wink and cocked her head to the side, exposing her neck to Sam, a clear line from her ear to the shadow between her breasts adding to the invitation.

"Okay," Sam replied, totally unfazed, as he grabbed the ping pong balls from Dean, bounced each in turn into a half-full cup and waved for the ladies to drink. The stunned faces, pretty now turned cold, pulled a full belly laugh from Dean as he snaked one arm around Sam's waist to pull him in for a celebratory hug. His lips grazed Sam's neck and his raucous laughter subsided into chuckles and then a breathy grin when he caught sight of Sam's gratified face. He was tantalizing in his sudden arrogance and Dean was sure that this game was the start of foreplay.

As the cups on the far side of the table disappeared, Sam found every excuse to let his fingers and palms claim a spot on Dean's body. His fingers slid down his back as Dean lined up a shot. His hand curled around his upper arm as they watched a ball bounce in and then back out of their cup. His fingers slipped into Dean's belt loop to tug him into a better position for his turn at a toss. By the time the girls took their last swigs of beer, both men were flushed and wanting, opting out of round two but fist bumping at the girls' defeat.

They wasted no time in rushing out of the restaurant, Dean grabbing their free appetizer certificate for their beer pong win as they quickly passed the hostess station near the front door. Sam pulled the little strip of paper from Dean's grasp as they made their way to Dean's car, waving it in the air triumphantly, with a proud smile on his face.

"Dude, I think you owe me for helping you win this," he said, feeling a bit cocky from their victory, feeling a bit drunk on the adrenaline and arousal pumping through him.

Dean turned slowly from where he had been unlocking the passenger side door, a predatory grin curling his lips. "Oh yeah?" He sauntered the three steps to where Sam stood, reaching his hands under Sam's untucked shirt and slipping his fingers into the waistband of his slacks, tugging Sam up flush against him. "And how, may I ask, should I begin showing you my gratitude?"

Sam felt his knees weaken. The heat from Dean's fingers on his stomach sent all the blood in his head rushing down to his cock in a dizzying surge and he couldn't think, couldn't speak, could only tip his head down to finally _finally_ press his lips to Dean's mouth.

His hands hung awkwardly at his sides for a moment until he heard Dean moan, _felt_ Dean moan, and he brought them up to fist into the material of the back of Dean's shirt. Sam coaxed his mouth open with his own and pulled in a frantic but deep taste. And oh Jesus, what a taste. It was absolutely fucking divine: spicy and sweet, tangy and bitter, with subtle yet demanding undertones of hops and vanilla. Sam could drown in the complexity of it, and he almost did. He pulled back with reluctance but only for the burn of his oxygen-starved lungs.

Dean looked up at him as they both panted for breath, his lips parted and swollen, his green irises nearly overtaken completely by the blackness of his pupils. His hands raced up Sam's ribs and across his back, pulling him closer still for another kiss. This time Sam walked them back the few paces to lean against the Impala, his large hands reaching up to frame Dean's face as he breathed him in, tilting his head and gulping like a starving man.

The press of the hard metal behind him, Dean pulled one leg up to wrap around Sam's and press his arousal hard into the taller man's hip. Eyes closed, he plundered as deeply as Sam had in the first kiss, his tongue inching its way into his soft mouth, over his sweet tongue and hard teeth. He smelled and _tasted _as much of sex and promise as honey and beer and Dean felt himself floating, falling into Sam's lips, each suckle of his tongue sending a pulse through his skin. When they pulled back again, Dean opened his eyes lazily, a teasing smile across his lips.

"Am I paid up?" he asked, his fingers digging into the corded muscles of Sam's back before slipping down to tuck into the back of his slacks and tease the part in his cheeks. A carnivorous glow warmed Sam's face, his eyes dancing between Dean's lips and eyes, and he sniffed his neck, letting his teeth drag up to his ear.

"Not quite," he growled as he pushed Dean's leg down and spun him in one fluid motion. His chest now flush against Dean's back and his erection pressing urgently between them, arms entwined, hands clutching just over Dean's thudding heart. Sam leaned his weight heavily against Dean and nuzzled into the soft hairs at the back of his neck. "But you're getting there."

Dean's whole body shook and he canted his hips back against Sam, feeling his hardened arousal digging into the soft flesh of his right ass cheek. He chuckled breathlessly when he felt Sam ghost a hot groan against the back of his neck in response. "You let me take you to my place right now and I'll pay you back, _with interest," _ Dean rasped, his tone bordering on desperate.

He suddenly felt the heavy weight of Sam's body being lifted off of his back and he turned, a sly grin already forming on his lips. But his breath caught in his chest and his smile faltered when he saw Sam looking as hungry as Dean felt himself, starved in fact. Would Dean himself even be able to last until he got to his house on the outskirts of town? Teasing Sam all the way there, though, would make it all worth it.

"How 'bout we go to my place?" Sam asked around gasping breaths, carding a hand through his hair. "It's right down the street."

"And what if I wanted to use the time driving to _my _place to make you squirm and pant until you couldn't take it anymore?" Dean countered.

He could clearly see the blush that raced across Sam's cheeks under the stark fluorescent lights in the darkened parking lot, but the taller man quickly regained his composure and brought his hands up, right fist in his left palm.

" Let's make it fair decision," Sam said with a grin. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Alright, kid, I'll take that challenge," Dean replied, bringing his hands up as well, already imagining the long ride home.


	4. Chapter 4

"Take the next left," Sam said, smiling smugly and nuzzling his nose against the sensitive skin behind Dean's ear.

Dean shivered and tightened his hands over the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. "We almost there?"

He felt just about ready to fucking explode, especially with Sam's hand caressing all up and down his thighs, purposefully neglecting his aching cock, the bastard. Dean's words had been mercilessly turned against him and now _he _was the one squirming and panting, all within the span of ten minutes.

"See that sign for the underground parking lot?" Sam asked, humid breath washing over Dean's neck.

Dean nodded tensely and pulled into the ramp that led down to a yellow and black barrier arm blocking the way in. Dean rolled down his window as he pulled up to the card reader, feeling the steamy air from the hot Houston night smack him in the face. He started turning toward Sam for the key card, but Sam was already crawling across the seat and over Dean to swipe it himself. Dean brought his hand up, taking full advantage of the situation, and slapped Sam's firm ass _hard. _

Sam yelped in surprise, jerking back into his seat as the arm raised up, granting them access. "You are _so_ gonna pay for that," he said.

"Put it on my tab," Dean smirked, easing the Impala down into the parking garage.

He whipped into the first empty space he could find after Sam told him it didn't matter what level he parked on. The two scrambled out of the car as quickly as they could, barely before Dean even turned off the engine.

Sam grasped him by the wrist and marched him to the elevator nearest to them. Dean reached his hands up, tangling his fingers in Sam's long hair and tugging him closer to ravage his mouth with hungry licks and bites while they waited for the elevator car to arrive. When it finally did, they tumbled in with a frenzied tangle of limbs.

Sam blindly punched the button for his floor, hugging Dean close to his body, desperately needing friction for his aching cock. He ground up against Dean's belly, his hands seeking and finding Dean's ass, taking two handfuls of each cheek, swallowing up the groan that filtered out of Dean's throat.

Dean quickly pulled away, shoving Sam back against the wall and falling to his knees before him like a man worshipping at a sacred altar. He hooked his fingers into Sam's pockets and brought his lips to Sam's cock, straining under the confines of his dress slacks, mouthing wetly at the material.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and pumped his hips forward, stroking through Dean's hair roughly, feeling like he would fucking _die _if he couldn't feel his dick inside Dean within the span of the next two goddamn seconds.

Dean's hands slipped to the front of Sam's slacks and he was just about to unzip the fly when the elevator pinged its destination and the doors rolled open. Without preamble, he hopped to his feet, took Sam's hand and bolted from the car. The sudden jerk back into the confined space was unexpected and Dean found himself nuzzled into Sam shirt, the other's foot holding the elevator door open.

"What's the hold up?" he protested, "We got things to do!" Sam's shushing motion exchanged further complaints for a questioning eyebrow.

"Mrs. Ferguson two doors down is, no kidding, the sitcom nosy neighbor," Sam leaned out of the car for a peek down the hall, the hot skin of his neck pressing against Dean's face. The temptation to sample was too much and Dean let his tongue slid over the smooth skin, easily garnering another groan and a heavy kiss.

"If she notices us walking by," he continued, panting, "she'll come out to talk."

"So what?"

"So do you feel like talking to a ninety year old great grandmother for twenty minutes? I thought not," Sam chuckled. Dipping his head for another searing kiss, Dean's hands fisting in his hair again, Sam groaned and whispered his plan. They would tiptoe down the hall against the opposite wall until they reached his door, two more past Mrs. Ferguson's. Sam could probably get his door open before the old woman could get her door open so they should be home free.

Hand in hand and fighting giggles like school boys, the two grown men inched their way down the luxurious carpet, eyes glued to the second door the entire trip. Sam took point and guided Dean around the plant topped table across from _that _door, his thumb pressed against his teeth to keep his laughter stifled. Dean, for his part, was a choirboy, naughty grin firmly in place and whispered retorts tumbling from his lips. Glancing over his shoulder, Sam allowed another shush to escape as he stopped them outside his door then swung Dean around him to keep watch. His keys slipped into the lock and it clicked just as Mrs. Ferguson's door swung open.

Not waiting for the kind old lady to make her salutation, Dean pressed himself against Sam's chest, his arms circling and then lifting him slightly off his feet for a tackle, kicking the door shut behind them as Sam yelled "Hi, Mrs. Ferguson" into the hall. They spilled onto the floor in the foyer, loud and unruly laughter echoing in the small space followed by a yelp from Sam.

"Damn but you're delicious, Sammy," Dean admired breathlessly as he dipped again for another go at Sam's throat.

Sam's skin flushed a pretty pink, from his unrelenting arousal as well as from Dean calling him Sammy again. He didn't usually like it when people called him anything but Sam, but the way Dean formed the letters with that perfect mouth, the way the name sounded rolling off his tongue, made it seem like such a crime to make him stop.

Dean straddled Sam's hips, grinding his ass down against Sam's aching erection, a wicked smile on his face. He curled forward, grasping Sam's wrists and wrenching them over his head and pinning them against the hardwood beneath them. Sam could feel the heat from Dean's breath wash across his chin and he moved his head up, as far forward as he was able with his arms trapped, biting at Dean's stubbled jaw.

"Say it again," he pleaded.

Dean ground down harder. "Say what, Sammy?"

Sam only had to look up at him for Dean to understand. "You like that, huh? Like it when I call you Sammy?" He brought his head down, licking the soft cup of Sam's ear. "Well, if you're a good boy, I might even scream it for ya."

Pure fucking _want _plowed through Sam and he absolutely could not take it anymore. His whole body tightened with the effort to roll Dean off of him and he let out a primal growl that was so uncharacteristic of him that he shocked himself. He stumbled to his feet, hauling Dean up with him, the beginnings of an apology forming on his lips until he saw Dean grinning with the same feral intensity. Sam suddenly found himself being pulled through his own apartment until they finally came to the bedroom where Dean pushed him up against the nearest wall. Sam let out a rough grunt with the driving force of the impact.

Dean's hands were instantly all over him, unknotting his tie and undoing the buttons on his shirt one by one. And with each inch of skin that was being exposed, Sam felt a fractional increase of self-consciousness. He had worked hard to get healthy, had worked so damn _hard _for the body he had now, but he still remembered, in a deeply hidden part of himself, the teasing and embarrassment he had endured when he was younger.

Dean glanced up from his task of unbuttoning, sensing a subtle shift in Sam's enthusiasm. There was a slightly shuttered look in Sam's beautiful hazel eyes and Dean only had to guess that it was from Sam's insecurity. He wanted to show him that he had absolutely _nothing _to be insecure about.

He began pressing hot kisses down the exposed expanse of Sam's toned chest as he continued to unbutton his shirt, muttering "gorgeous" and "stunning" and "so goddamn sexy" after each reverent touch of his lips. Sam quickly loosened again and by the time Dean had pulled off every last stitch of clothing on the younger man, Sam was grinning and completely unabashed, not to mention completely aroused; his cock, huge and thick, stood at attention proudly and was already shiny with dribbles of precome.

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean whispered with an irrefutable tone of wonder, dragging his eyes over every inch of the gloriously naked man before him. "You are _so _beautiful."

The blush crept up Sam's chest and neck, his dimpled smile bringing the childlike innocence back to his features for a moment before feral desire swept back in, his hazel eyes going dark as he reached a hand out. Dean groped himself through his slacks before dropping to his knees and tapping Sam's inner thigh, encouraging a wider stance. He placed a palm flat against Sam's abdomen and tickled the fine hairs that trailed to the coarser ones framing the swollen object of his affection. His other palm held Sam's leg still as he buried his face in the crook of his thigh, peppering bites and kisses as he spoke.

"Oh, the things I'm gonna do to you, Sammy. The things I'm gonna let you do to me? God, I can't wait." His voice was low and gravelly with want and he was rewarded his Sam's thick fingers in his short hair.

Dean took his time as he licked a wet stripe up Sam's engorged cock, savoring the sweat and musk that was Sam. His tongue rounded the head, licking at the precum stained skin like a lolipop before swallowing down as much flesh as would fit. Eyes closed, Dean heard Sam's head hit the wall behind him as a groan tumbled down to his ears, the sound like water on hot desert sand, his own cock starting to dribble.

Sam looked down at Dean's kneeling form and gasped again, his hips stuttering at his fantasy made real. The slurping sounds of Dean's mouth around his cock doubled the sensation and he knocked his head back against the wall again, the deep rumbled chuckle from Dean sending another wave of pleasure racing through his already overwrought nerve endings. He looked down again and studied the man below him, the muscles of his forearms bunching with the effort to keep Sam still, his full lips stretched wide and dripping with saliva and Sam's own slickness. He was getting close and his body tightened in response.

Sensing his imminent orgasm, Dean popped off his suckling, grunted his refusal and stood, taking a step back. "Not yet, baby boy. I got plans for you."

Dean took another step back as Sam stepped forward, a teasing dance as he kicked off his shoes and striped out of his own clothes.

"Condoms?" Dean asked, pulling his polo over his head to be tossed aside.

"Bedside table. Top drawer."

"They make them in your size?" he teased and shoved his khakis to the floor, stepping out in just in boxers and socks. "Did your eyes just sparkle? I swear there was a sparkle."

Dean laughed as Sam finally swarmed him, one sock still on, the other in his hand, and tipped them both onto the bed.

"You think you're cute, huh?" Sam asked, sliding his palm under Dean's thick thigh, caressing the smooth muscles and pulling the limb over his hip before sliding his fingers into the underside of Dean's boxers.

"I think I'm adorable," Dean retorted, leaning his head away and inviting Sam's attention.

Sam took full advantage of the offer and brought his mouth down, sucking wet bites to Dean's exposed throat, the brine of his perspiration zinging across his tongue. He crept his fingers further under Dean's boxers to the cleft of his ass. Dean let out a hiss as Sam's dry finger brushed against his throbbing hole, canting his hips up suggestively.

"I'm a pretty tough guy and I can take a lot, but I've never had anyone as big as you," Dean rasped earnestly. "Mind getting me ready first?"

Sam pulled back from Dean's neck, swishing his hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head. "You thought I wouldn't?" he asked, his eyes searching Dean's face. He knew he was bigger than most guys, hell a _lot _bigger honestly, and though Dean was a bigger guy, _stature-wise, _than Sam was used to, there was no way he wasn't going to take his time preparing Dean properly.

Dean shrugged and smiled. "Just wanted to make sure."

Sam nodded and crawled across the mattress to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube and a handful of condoms. He made his way back to Dean, tugging first his boxers off and then his one remaining sock, pressing a kiss to the tender arch of Dean's instep. Dean giggled and jerked his foot away and Sam filed _that_ particular piece of information away for later use.

He then spread Dean's thighs apart carefully, his eyes raking over the pale skin there that was much lighter than the sun kissed tan covering Dean's upper half. His gaze was quickly drawn to Dean's cock, thick and veiny, laying heavy against his lower belly. Sam swallowed back the sudden rush of saliva that filled his mouth and slicked up his fingers with lube, spreading a generous amount on Dean's quivering and puckered entrance with feather-light touches.

Dean gasped and Sam drew his hand back, looking up to gauge Dean's comfort level. His head was thrown back on the bed with his teeth bared.

Sam proceeded cautiously, squeezing his fist around the base of his own dick as he reached his hand forward again, pushing the tip of his middle finger into Dean's tight hole. He withdrew before he hit the first knuckle, earning a frustrated groan from Dean. He pushed in again slowly, further this time, and was about to pull out, when Dean suddenly reached down, grasping Sam's wrist roughly. Sam looked up, sure that he had hurt Dean somehow.

Dean stared at him, his face blushing an angry red. "What the fuck're you doin', man? You're killing me here."

"I'm getting you ready, Dean," Sam said softly with a nervous chuckle, suddenly and irrationally afraid that maybe he was doing it wrong.

He tried pulling his hand back from where his finger was still half buried in Dean's ass, but Dean's hand clamped down tighter around Sam's wrist, pushing his finger in all the way. "I'm not a fucking china doll. You're not gonna break me."

Sam shook his head lightly with uncertainty, his sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead. Dean growled and began roughly pumping Sam's finger in and out of his ass. "Sammy, look at me"

Sam glanced up from where his finger was buried, locking his gaze on Dean's flushed face.

"It's okay. I can take it. Just open me up and I'm all yours, baby boy." Dean's voice was softer now, almost as comforting as it was commanding. Sam took a steadying breath and started again as Dean released his grip and leaned back on his elbows.

"_Look_ at me, Sammy," Dean commanded, letting one hand slide down his torso and back up to pinch his nipple.

As if he could disobey, Sam's eyes hungrily followed Dean's hand as it caressed his skin. He was as aroused by Dean's muscular form now as he had been that afternoon. Rather than skinny or lean, Dean carried a hard bulk in his legs and shoulders. Sam admired the curve of his neck as it worked to keep Dean's head up, the strain in his upper arms where most of his weight now rested. His tummy jumped in time to Sam's hand which moved now with more confidence, in and out from tip to knuckle, then two fingers in and out from tip to knuckle.

Dean let his head fall back and spread his legs wider, his husky voice just a whisper, "Find it, Sammy. Give it to me good."

Sam knew what Dean wanted and twisted his hand at the wrist, letting the tips of his fingers slide against the soft walls of Dean's passage. It seemed so much easier with the smaller men that Sam usually attracted. They were overly eager, open and panting before Sam had time to learn what they wanted. But Dean? Dean was an entirely different animal. Dean wanted him to touch and taste and _savor_, and oh how his cries curled Sam's toes when he finally found that spot - it was nearly enough to push him over the edge.

"Dean. Dean, please." Sam's desperate voice shook Dean like a bass chord striking deep and resonating through his chest.

He lifted his head, blinking around the intense desire beating through him to bring Sam into focus. Sam's brows were drawn together, sweat beading on his forehead, on the very cusp of breaking.

And damn if Dean wasn't on the verge himself. Especially when Sam said, "I need to be inside you. I need to be inside you right fucking now."

Dean nodded vigorously, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut at the aching loss of Sam's fingers being withdrawn. There was the sound of ripping foil as Sam opened a condom and suddenly Dean felt the pressure of Sam's cock pressing against his overworked and eager hole. He looked up at Sam, seeing the pure bliss settle across his face as he pushed into Dean's tight heat.

Dean groaned loudly, feeling every single inch of Sam's dick as he worked in, stretching him, filling him, and in a way that was absolutely indescribable. Sam trembled above him, coming to rest on his elbows up by Dean's head after he had bottomed out and Dean hooked his ankles around Sam's lower back, silently nudging him to start moving. And move he did; short, shallow thrusts that quickly morphed into pounding and brutal pushes and pulls. The sharp sound of skin slapping skin rang out harshly in the confines of Sam's bedroom, mixing fluidly with the gasps and moans drawn from them both.

Bringing his hands up to dig his fingers into the steely and flexing muscles of Sam's shoulders, Dean held on against the staggering onslaught. He lifted his head up from the bed, sliding one hand into Sam's thick, damp hair and holding him in close for a fiercely intimate kiss. Sam whimpered into Dean's open mouth and Dean ate up the sound greedily, raising his hips for a deeper penetration of Sam's cock.

He suddenly found himself being lifted bodily up from the mattress by Sam's muscular arms and he gave a surprised grunt. He fell into place on Sam's lap, never once in the movement losing the fullness of Sam's dick, and straddled his legs wide over Sam's thighs, bouncing up and down wildly.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's back, pressing him close against his sweat-slick chest, bringing his mouth down close to Dean's ear as he continued to thrust up into his throbbing channel. "Do you feel how deep I am inside you, Dean?" he panted, sending a violent shudder through Dean's whole body.

Dean nodded, biting into the soft curve of Sam's neck. The sharp and tangy salt of Sam's sweat exploded across his tongue, instantly sending electric bolts of desire slamming straight down to his aching and rock-hard cock where it slid between their bellies. "S- So deep, Sammy," he stammered. "Christ, you're so deep, baby boy."

Sam's hands slid down Dean's back, grabbing his ass cheeks and spreading them, penetrating Dean even deeper, deeper than he had ever experienced. He cried out at the ecstasy of it, tangling his fingers in Sam's hair tightly, feeling his balls draw up close to his body as his orgasm started shaking through him in a slow and delicious build.

"I'm - I'm gonna…" Sam sobbed breathlessly against the crook of Dean's neck.

"Let go, Sammy," Dean choked, "Come with me."

His next breath lodged deep in his chest as he felt Sam go rigid against him, his cock driving up with a rough finality, filling the condom inside him with a hot, liquid rush that Dean could actually _feel _high in his belly.

Dean crashed over the edge almost simultaneously, shouting Sammy's name like he said he would, coming so hard that the world blurred to white. He spasmed and shook in Sam's strong arms as his cock erupted in powerful, sticky spurts between them, smearing and marking them both with his release. The exquisite high took its time fading as they sat unmoving for several moments, each letting his hands stroke the other softly, aftershocks rolling through them in turns.

Dean pressed his forehead to Sam's shoulder, gasping for breath and listening to the other's labored breathing settle back into a stable rhythm. Sated for now, his thoughts turned to cleaning up and hot water and worshiping this creature in his arms with a washcloth and soap but his limbs wouldn't obey the command to move.

"I knew there was a wildcat under that boy scout exterior," Dean mused against Sam's ear. The answering chuckle bounced him gently on Sam's lap before he was released and he fell back, pulling Sam with him, settling side by side.

"Okay, so maybe I did get a little carried away," Sam admitted with a blush and then laughed at Dean's incredulous face.

"A _little_? Dude, I never get manhandled. That was awesome!" Dean beamed like a million dollar winner, eliciting an embarrassed but proud chuckle from Sam.

Indifferent to the mess and eager to have him close again, Dean pulled Sam into his arms, one limb sliding under to caress his back. Sam settled his head against Dean's shoulder, cradled in a tenderness he didn't realize he needed. Dean massaged the tips of his fingers over Sam's scalp and took another deep breath, the scent of Sam and sex making his mouth water. As sleep inched its way over both of them, a rumble from Dean's chest pulled Sam's attention back from dreamland.

"What?" he asked, drowsily.

"Sam, did you really think you were gonna hurt me?" He could hear the smile in Dean's voice. "Like with just your fingers?"

"Aww man," Sam groaned and buried his face for a moment. "Come on, don't make fun of me now. You said yourself it was awesome."

Dean gave another happy rumble and pulled Sam's hand into his own. "Oh yeah it was awesome, but I'm thinking someone has a thing for delicate little princesses. Glad you got over that shit."

"They have a thing for _me_." Sam corrected. "Besides, you have a thing for me so... doesn't that make _you _the delicate little princess?"

Dean didn't answer but instead gave a tug to a lock of chestnut hair.

"Dude, ouch!" Sam let out a low laugh and rubbed his head where Dean had tugged, giving Dean a light punch in return.

"Dammit, baby boy!" Dean replied with mock irritation, followed by a wide yawn, "Can't you see a man's trying to sleep here?"

"Yeah okay." Sam was skeptical but nuzzled a bit closer anyway, his own yawn racing the next words from his mouth. "So I guess there are no pretty pink panties or fluffy tutus hiding in your stuff somewhere?"

"Of course there are!" Dean scoffed with another chuckle, pulling the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and covering it over the two of them. "If you let me get some sleep before round two, I'll show them off for you on the next date. I'm just easy like that."

Sam said goodnight before Dean could finish his sentence.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> We hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! Just wanted to let you guys know that we changed the summary a bit since we decided to take the story in somewhat of a different direction, in as far as focusing more on the hot, steamy fun that Sam and Dean are going to be getting themselves into in the future ;) Stick around for lots and lots more fun to cum, I mean come.


	5. Chapter 5

A heated shaft of early morning sunlight sifted through the blinds in Sam's bedroom, slanting across the two sleeping forms tangled together on the bed. Dean cracked an eye open, momentarily disoriented by where he was and why he was so damn _hot, _even with the obvious breeze of central air being pumped into the room, and immediately saw the reason why when his gaze fell on Sam, snoring lightly and draped across his chest. His bangs were hiding his eyes but they trembled in time to his steady breaths. Dean hadn't slept that well in far too long and he snuggled a bit closer to Sam despite the warmth; the man was a goddamn heater.

The man was also a fucking deputy District Attorney!

Dean's eyes flew open as the events from last night came flooding back, immediately kicking up his heart rate. His prison time hung around his neck like an albatross and most definitely would not mix well at all with someone so far on the right side of the law. Sam did not need that kind of dead weight holding him back. Besides, Dean reminded himself, he was not the type of guy to stick around so long the morning after, even if last night's sex was the best he'd had in longer than he could remember.

He squinted into the sunlight shining into the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall, then glanced to the clock on the bedside table. 6 am? Fuck, he'd already stayed way longer than he was used to in these love 'em and leave 'em situations that he was, regrettably, so used to.

Disentangling himself from beneath Sam as gingerly and quietly as possible, Dean scooted off the bed and went about the task of gathering up his clothes from the floor, smiling despite himself when Sam took a deep and noisy breath in his sleep. Spotting his boxers near the door, he crossed the large room, accidentally stepping on a weakened floorboard. He immediately cringed and ducked his head down as it let out a loud squeak.

Sam startled awake at the sound, instantly reaching out across the mattress for Dean before his eyes had even opened. And when his hand found nothing but air, he sat up abruptly. He saw Dean over by the bedroom door, frozen in bending forward to pick his boxers up off the hardwood. Sam's heart plummeted, fully understanding that Dean had been trying to sneak away while he slept, and he swallowed dryly. Of course he was leaving. The night was over so why would he stay?

Dean straightened slowly, not attempting to hide his nakedness in any way. "Good morning!" he said, an obviously forced grin spreading across his face. "I was just, uh, cleaning up a little."

Sam nodded, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Yeah," he said, chuckling weakly and bringing up a hand to rub over the back of his neck. "Y'know, if you need to be somewhere, I totally understand." He shifted uneasily on the bed, gathering the sheets across his bare lap. He really shouldn't be disappointed. He'd let others go without complaint, so letting Dean leave should be no different. It _should _have been no different, but it wasn't.

Dean's smile fell away as he looked at Sam, beautiful, perfect Sam, covering himself as if Dean hadn't already seen every single inch of his naked skin last night up close and personal. Dean blinked numbly. _What the hell am I doing? _ he asked himself. How could he even think of hurting Sam after the night they had just shared? He was so wrapped up in his own damn head that he hadn't even considered Sam at all. And didn't that just speak fucking volumes about why he was no good for a man as amazing as Sam Wesson anyways?

Dean shook the thoughts away roughly, not wanting to see that utterly dejected look on Sam's face any longer, or ever again for that matter, and tossed his clothes over his shoulder. He grinned broadly and shrugged as he quickly made his way back to the bed.

"No way," he said, vaulting himself onto the mattress, almost crushing an amused Sam as he straddled his lap. "I've got plenty of time."

The relieved smile that broke across Sam's face made Dean's heart ache. The morning after was not known for enduring chemistry and Dean knew leading Sam on was wrong. This attachment would fall apart any minute now and then he'd be … they'd be… yeah.

He quickly pushed away the incomplete thoughts, busying himself instead with the softness and warmth of Sam's skin under his lips as he pressed kisses all along Sam's collarbone. Humming his pleasure, Sam brought his hands up to caress Dean's face, his scruff harsh against Sam's soft palm. Dean's kisses morphed into nips and then into raspberries, the sound of Sam's deep laughter filling the room and the empty spot in Dean's gut. A smiling Sam Wesson was like fucking sunshine and rainbows. How was that even possible?

Sam too tried to cling to his fear. Would the morning prove that their connection was purely physical? But he let his insecurity slip away with each nibble from Dean's mouth on his flesh. Sam knew that he shouldn't be so excited to have this stranger stay any longer than he had already but he just couldn't come down from his high. Dean's attention was like a drug and he wanted to take as many hits as he could before it was time to head back out into the real world. As giggles and raspberries gave way to murmurs and sighs, Sam hands gripped Dean's hips forcefully, pushing his own hips up to rub against Dean's backside.

"Ready to go again, Sammy?" Dean chuckled, rolling his hips back and down, adding to the pressure. When the sweetness slipped away from Sam's smile, a darkness inching across his lips to replace it, Dean fisted Sam's hair, forcing his head to the side and leaving his neck exposed. The teeth that were gentle and playful turned hungry and demanding as Dean claimed a spot on Sam's shoulder, the flesh savory on his tongue.

Rather than cry out, Sam opted for control and rolled them over, his weight holding Dean still as his hands roamed his skin.

"I can't get enough of you, Dean," Sam ground out the words in time to his hips, his hardening cock rubbing against Dean's.

Insatiable. Dean made him fucking insatiable and at the same time afraid that he'd never quench his desire for his muscled form under him. But Sam found himself rolling again as Dean maneuvered himself to the top, trapping Sam's arms underneath him in the process.

"Good thing you've got me for a few more hours then isn't it, tiger," Dean crooned against Sam's ear and then let his tongue draw a wet line from lobe to tip. "Softball practice doesn't start until ten. I'm all yours 'til then."

"Softball, huh?" Sam looked up at him, his face full of a sincere hopefulness. "Is that a code word for something _sexy_?" He ground his hips up in a desperate attempt to find friction for his quickly thickening dick.

"No, nothing sexy," Dean chuckled, ignoring the twinge in his heart that came with Sam's innocent look. "Just community service," he finished and dipped his head down again to nip at the hard edge of Sam's jaw.

"Community service?" Sam asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

Dean closed his eyes against his slip and gave himself a mental kick, sliding a hand between them to distract Sam. He pushed up onto his knees and pressed his forehead to the pulse point at Sam's throat. He could feel Sam's heartbeat jump as he gripped both arousals for a gentle tug that had him panting too as he spoke again.

"It's a nasty habit I picked up from the firm," (mostly true) stroking harder at the word 'firm.' "Feels so good to give back doesn't it, Sammy?"

Sam grunted his agreement as he struggled to pull his arms free, finally stretching to take the globes of Dean's ass in his hands.

"_Now _who's the boy scout?" Sam rumbled.

He tugged Dean forward roughly, digging his fingers into the soft supple flesh, and Dean couldn't help but release a unbecoming gasp when Sam's cock wedged between his cheeks.

Dean glanced down, letting his eyes travel over the expanse of Sam's flushed neck and chest and stomach, then drug his eyes back up slowly, a wicked idea forming in his mind.

"Looks like _someone_ is a very _dirty _boy," he rasped, licking his lips. Sam shivered beneath him and Dean grinned sinfully, bringing his chest down to rub against Sam's. Dean's cum, dried and flaking from the previous night's escapades, scratched between them. "I think a shower is in order here."

Sam blushed a pretty pink and Dean knew he'd forgotten all about 'community service'. He pulled back, swinging his leg over Sam's hips and crawling off the bed. He reached his hand out, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

But Sam hesitated. "Isn't shower sex a little, uh, complicated?"

Dean didn't miss a beat, grasping Sam's wrist, and a few condoms, he pulled him from the bed with a rough yank. "Oh, baby boy, the things I'm gonna teach you," he promised, then immediately mentally kicked himself again for thinking of them in the long term.

He was about to tug Sam to the bathroom before quickly realizing he had no idea where it was. "Why don't you lead the way there, Sammy?"

Sam felt a rush of excitement pound straight down to his already engorged cock and he linked his arm in Dean's after taking in a long deep taste of his mouth, pulling him out of the bedroom and across the hall, playfully shoving him into his bathroom. He hadn't ever had sex in the shower before; hadn't, in fact, done a _lot _of the things he had already done with Dean in the last 24 hours. How in the world Dean brought out this side of him was completely beyond him. Not that Sam minded in the slightest.

Dean screeched to a halt when he saw Sam's walk-in shower, his eyes going wide with amazement and Sam flushed with pride. The size of his shower was one thing he absolutely would not be swayed on when he had designed his condo, not with the length of _his_ limbs. He had also insisted on a rainfall showerhead _and _a separate detachable, pulsating showerhead as well, seeing as the shower was where Sam did some of his best thinking.

Right now though, Sam found he could hardly think at all with Dean's plush lips suddenly smashing against his own. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby boy," Dean panted against his open mouth.

Sam nodded fervently and walked them back past the glass shower door, fumbling for the water dial and turning it on full blast, all without breaking the contact of their lips. Warm water suddenly began cascading down around them both, slicking their skin and drenching their hair within a matter of moments, heating Sam's blood as it thundered through his veins.

He took half a step toward Dean and Dean took an obliging step back, and another and another, until Sam had him backed into a corner of the shower stall. Sam braced his hands on the tiles, caging Dean in as the warm water continued to pelt them both, washing the sweat and dried cum from their skin.

Steam billowed up between the small space separating their heaving chests and Dean looked up at him, beads of water clinging to his lashes like morning dew. Undeniable hunger flashed in his eyes, lending to them a deep verdant gleam, and he reached out, grasping onto Sam's hips, tugging him forward enough that he could rub the slick and hot steely length of his rigid arousal up against Sam's.

Sam groaned through clenched teeth and dipped his head down to lick up the pool of water that had gathered in the hollow of Dean's clavicle before dragging the flat of his tongue up the side of Dean's neck. Dean chuckled and Sam could feel the rumble of it from where his lips sucked at the warm, wet skin on his throat.

Dean tugged Sam close again, pumping his hips forward to rub their cocks against each other in a near-frictionless slide, driving Sam fucking senseless from the ecstasy of it all.

"See, Sammy? Not much to it. Same as in a bed, except for a lot more... _wet._" He punctuated the last word by reaching one hand between them to squeeze their dicks together, drawing his thumb over each tip and smearing precome around both swollen heads.

Sam's hips stuttered forward and he let out a rough groan into the crook of Dean's neck as water ran in unending rivulets down his face. It was all too much for Sam to bear anymore, far too fucking much; for as long as he wanted to draw this out, knowing in that dark, fiercely logical corner of his brain that this would probably be the last time he would see Dean (because, really, what did Sam have to offer to make him stay? ), his body _screamed _for release. He took hold of Dean's upper arms and turned him to face the wall in a gracefully fluid motion that nearly caught the shorter man off guard.

Dean's hands came up to the slippery tile to brace himself and he looked back over his shoulder at Sam, feeling his breath lodge deep in his chest at the raw intensity he saw on Sam's face. He brushed water from his eyes and turned back to face the wall, his heart knocking heavily against his ribcage. "C'mon, baby boy," he crooned, "Let me have it."

Dean could hear Sam's harsh panting breaths even over the din of the rushing water and he rocked his ass back enticingly. He could feel him fumble with a condom wrapper and then Sam's hands were suddenly at his hips, fingers trembling slightly before he tightened his grip firmly.

Sam pulled one hand away from Dean's hip, dragging the tips of his fingers toward Dean's lower back and down to the very start of the cleft of his ass, leaving burning sparks across Dean's wet skin in his wake. Dean shuddered violently, flexing his hands on the smooth tiles. He spread his legs farther apart to give Sam's searching fingers better access to his eager hole.

The breach of Sam's middle finger was so sudden and so desperately needed that Dean cried out, arching his back and thrusting his ass closer to Sam's hand so roughly that he took the whole length of that long finger in all at once.

Sam growled but didn't miss a beat, pumping into Dean with an urgent tempo that left Dean breathless. And as quickly as that first finger was thrust in, two more joined it, driving in and out, stretching Dean, filling him. But not as fully as Sam's huge cock could.

"S-sammy," Dean stuttered, which was a first for him; Dean did _not _stutter. "Please."

_Please._ The word did crazy things to Sam's insides and he found himself pressing Dean harder against the tile, the need to feel him skin to skin driving his movements before his mind could really register.

_Please._ Dean pushed back against the tile but was trapped by Sam's weight on him, that large hand sliding under his thigh to pull it up to rest his foot against the caddy shelf, the source of Sam's temptation open and waiting. Sam leaned his forehead against Dean's shoulder, growling with sudden need. If this was the last taste he had of Dean, he wanted it all.

Dean's cry echoed through the stall and off the walls of the bathroom, a sound filled with agonizing ecstasy and longing, when Sam slid in, self control crushed under the weight of desire.

"Is this okay?" Sam asked, a whine in his voice, desperate. "I'm sorry. I just needed…"

"Good god, stop talking and start moving," Dean snapped, arching to slightly force more of Sam into himself. Dean's hand sought Sam's as the taller man began to move, the force of his thrusts smacking Dean to the tile. Dean curled their entwined hands to his chest and guided the others to his own throbbing dick, the two stroking together in time to Sam's hips.

For all their playing overnight, Dean was as tight as that first breach, hot and hungry. His hard muscles begged for Sam's teeth and he obliged, sinking in as Dean had done for him, the bite making Dean cry out again in pleasure.

Sam wanted to watch his come spray across Dean's back but he needed him to come first. He reached away from them for the soap, returning to Dean's weeping cock with a slick hand and renewed vigor, talking as he fucked Dean hard.

"You are so beautiful, Dean," Sam whispered. "So open and ready for me. You made me hard the moment I saw you. Did you like my show? That show just for you? Do you like this now? My dick shoving right up your ass, taking you like you're mine? Tell me, Dean."

Dean's words were an incoherent garble as he came hard, bursts of white cream pulsing out over paired hands to hit matching tile. Sam too fell over the edge, pulling out, letting the condom slide off, and watching his own wet pearls of come splash onto Dean's perfect tan skin.

Sam sagged against Dean's back, both of them holding each other up somehow, as the warm water from the shower continued to sluice around them, rinsing away Dean's spend from the tiled wall before them. Their breathing slowly evened out and Sam pulled back, but not before mouthing a lingering kiss to the freckled skin of Dean's shoulder, cataloging the uniquely sharp taste of the man, filling it away for when he would be gone.

Dean chuckled hoarsely, breaking Sam from those thoughts with a jolt.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, a small smile curving his lips.

Dean pushed away from the tiled wall, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. "Good thing we're already in the shower, huh?"

Sam looked down, seeing his come smeared over Dean's back and coating his own stomach from where they had been pressed together. They were filthier now than when they'd gotten in the shower in the first place and Sam couldn't help but chuckle a bit in spite of himself.

The two quickly got down to the business of actually washing, soon emerging from the bathroom clean and fresh and grinning and then somehow got through the act of dressing, though Sam tried his hardest to take Dean's clothes off as soon as he had put them on.

Dean patiently swatted away each attempt, finally grasping Sam's hands in his own. "I really have to go, Sammy," he said softly, bringing his hands up to kiss across Sam's knuckles. He absolutely could not be late to softball practice.

Sam nodded, an indecipherable emotion flashing across his face before Dean could really process it, and he let Dean's hands go gently before leading him to the door.

"If you ever wanna, uh, hit me up sometime," Sam said awkwardly, carding a hand through his still damp hair, "You've got my number."

Dean grinned his thousand-watt smile and gripped a hand over the back of Sam's neck, yanking him forward and smashing a heated kiss to his mouth. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to Sam's. "You bet your ass I'm gonna call," he whispered.

He left a dazed and smiling Sam in the doorway and very nearly skipped his way to the elevator at the end of the hall, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam sat back in his office chair with a huff, scrubbing roughly at his over-tired eyes then staring out at the massive accumulation of files and papers strewn across his desk. It had been almost a week since he had seen Dean out of his front door the morning after they'd first met and Sam, much to his frustration, had been thrust into a nightmare of a case as soon as he had gotten back to work. He had been absolutely swamped ever since and had had to stay late at the office every single night. Tonight was no exception.

They'd been trading texts, pics and short conversations since Sunday but public transit was not the best place for private conversation and Dean was already tucked in bed by the time Sam was free to talk. It wasn't the same and, as hard as it was for him to admit it, he missed Dean. He grabbed his cell and swiped it open, the memory of that first nervous text message replaying in his head.

Sam had tapped out a long message with 'how's going?' and 'thanks for the night' only to delete the whole thing in favor of a short 'hi.' An incoming text had dinged almost as he'd hit send and he actually gave a fist pump when he realized it was from Dean, each finally giving in and messaging at the same time.

**great minds** - Dean's second text had read.

_id say so_ - was Sam's reply, an unseen and flushed smile on his lips.

His phone now felt like a lifeline and his only link to that one perfect night and he found himself cradling it often, waiting for the next ding to signal Dean's attention. Oh man did he have it bad. With a sigh, he pulled up Dean's last text and sent off another reply.

_late nights suck_

He set the phone down but it chirped before he could grab the next file.

**not all late nights suck**

_good point. late nights at work suck_

Sam took a look at his watch, eight thirty five. Dean would be up for at least another half hour so he shot off the next message.

_feel like a chat?_

Sam's phone rang in reply and he accepted the call with a smile, sinking back in his chair.

"Hi, Sammy," Dean said softly, both the deep timbre of his voice and the pet name sending pleasant tingles curling all through his body.

"Hey," Sam replied, bringing up his free hand to loosen the knot in his tie and unbutton his collar. He let out a sigh when he felt like he could finally breathe.

"You doin' alright there, baby boy?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, just settling in for the long haul," Sam said. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, trying to soothe his tense muscles as he looked out over the mess on his desk again, lit only by a small circle light from his desktop lamp. "Tryin' to get everything together for the deposition tomorrow."

Sam heard Dean make a soft noise of understanding and he shifted a bit in his chair. "Listen, Dean," he began, voice low and apologetic, "I'm really sorry about my screwed up schedule this week. I promise I'll make it up to you."

Dean chuckled lightly, the rough cadence of the sound slipping warmly about Sam's middle, and said, "Hey, man, I already told you it's fine. I totally get it." He paused for a moment and Sam thought maybe he was about to say goodbye. "So," he continued, "You all by yourself there in the office?"

Sam glanced at his watch, seeing it was nearing nine and knew that not even the cleaning crew would be in the building anymore. "Yeah," he answered with a small, slightly confused laugh.

"Oh." Dean hummed and Sam could hear the shift and shuffle of his clothes. "I bet it's kinda lonely, huh? No one there to keep you company, except your great _big_ desk? You must be working really _hard_ there, Sammy."

Sam swallowed, feeling a hot blush rise to his cheeks, and let out a weak chuckle. "Dude, are you trying to turn me on right now?"

He could hear the grin in Dean's voice when he asked, "What do _you_ think, Sammy?"

Sam squeezed his thighs together slightly at the pressure he suddenly felt gathering in his lower belly with the rush of desire those five little words caused. He licked his lips. "I, uh, I've never…I don't know if I, um..."

"Sammy," Dean said, frank seriousness edging into his tone, and Sam fell silent. "I want you to ask me to have phone sex with you."

Sam choked out a cough, reaching down to adjust the growing erection in his slacks. "What, really? Like right now?"

"Ask me," Dean ordered.

Hot sparks of arousal arrowed straight down to Sam's cock at the command and he nodded, though Dean could not see him. "O- okay," he stammered, "Will you?"

"Will I what?" Dean asked, obviously urging Sam to elaborate.

The blush on Sam's cheeks deepened and he pulled in a shaky breath. He hadn't ever done anything like this before, well not counting the time last week when he had jacked off in his office during fucking _business hours_. He had never had phone sex before, much less asked someone for it. But he, again, found himself exploring and indulging more sides to himself than he knew even existed before he met Dean.

"Will you have phone sex with me, Dean?" he asked, forcing the eager tremor from his voice.

"Atta boy," Dean crooned. A faint grunt quickly followed and Sam could clearly hear the sound of Dean undoing his fly, the sound forcing a moan from Sam.

"I've been thinking about you and your dick all week, Sammy. And every time, I get hard and heavy and have to just rub one out. Every time." Dean sighed, his breath heavy against the mic. "How 'bout you? Think of me at all?"

Sam nodded again before answering, his hand pressing the hard line of his erection. He could hear the change in Dean's breathing, the rhythm going deep and long, hissed out between his teeth. Sam forgot how much he'd liked hearing him enjoying pleasure.

"Yeah," Sam admitted with a smile, his embarrassment clear in his voice. "Yeah, I did." He gave himself a hard squeeze, the memory of Dean's tight heat finally filling his length completely.

The vibration from Dean's knowing chuckle tickled Sam's ear and he let out a huff. "That monster cock better be out, Sammy. You're so fucking beautiful when you're hard, all pink and wet. Come on, baby boy, you're touching yourself right now, right?"

Sam almost dropped his cell in his hurry to comply, his button and zipper suddenly alien technology. He moaned his relief when he finally gripped his erection for a full stroke.

"Tell me what you miss, Sammy." Dean's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Talk to me."

Sam flushed again. It was easy to talk dirty when he was balls deep but, alone in his office, he was suddenly shy and tongue tied. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish before he gulped and stuttered a few cheesy lines, his ears going hot when Dean all but belly laughed at him.

"Relax, Sam," Dean instructed letting the humor die away, his voice now an anchor. "Close your eyes, think of me and tell me what you see."

Sam followed his direction, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Several images floated to the surface - Dean's face, his lips, shoulders - all of which made him ooze onto his palm. It took Sam a moment to sort through and settle on one fantasy, Dean's soft breathing sparking inspiration. He cleared his throat and answered Dean's question in earnest.

"The sound you make when I first go in makes me crazy," he started. "You take a short, deep breath and your body just pulls at me. I wanna go slow every time, Dean, I swear, but god you feel so good and tight. Like you're gonna crush my dick in a vise."

Sam felt his hips jerk at the memory but Dean gasped and a white hot flash of pleasure zinged to his toes and then straight up his spine. He slowed his hand, drawing out the sensations.

"That's good, baby boy." Dean's praise curled his toes and he spoke again.

"I wanna touch you soft but I just can't. I need to mark you up and fuck you hard. I want you to remember that I was there."

Sam slouched further in his chair flattening his back against the seat and sprawling his legs under the desk. Another thought came to him and he voiced it, timidity a laughable concept now.

"I can't wait to bend you over my desk and pound away. Just toss all this bullshit work right on the floor and shove my cock so far up your ass you'll taste my cum."

He heard Dean grunt and the sound made him see stars. He slowed his pace again but whispered, "I'm close."

Dean's answering growl rocketed down through his hips to the tip he was teasing. He opened his mouth to speak again but Dean's baritone cut him short.

"God damn, Sammy, I fuckin' need you now. I got it bad, boy, and I need to fuck you right back." The change made Sam stutter out a moan and Dean continued.

"I swear, you let me and I'll pay every orgasm right back. I'll let you take a turn on my cock and pull your hair and ride you hard, Sammy, ride you as hard as you rode me."

The rhythmic sound of flesh on flesh came through the phone and echoed Sam's pace. The vision of Dean buried inside him, his own hole stretched and aching around Dean's cock, pulled his balls tight, the promise of release just a breath away.

"And you'll fucking love it, baby boy."

The last words were a guttural growl that Sam felt more than heard as his orgasm finally took hold of him. He did drop his phone as the first hard wave hit him and his other hand crawled down to clamp his balls, a pinky teasing his own hole.

White strings of come rocketed out of his cock, spattering wetly onto the carpet between his spread knees and dripping down onto his slacks. He gingerly pulled his finger from his spasming entrance but kept stroking himself through the quaking aftershocks and fumbled to pick up his phone.

"Dean," he gasped hoarsely, pressing his cell back to his ear to hear Dean panting rapidly, and Sam knew he was at the very edge, needing only a push to send him flying. "Dean," he said again, his voice pitched low and urgent, "I made such a fuckin' mess. My cum is everywhere. God I wish you were here to help me clean it all up."

Sam could hear the very second Dean lost control, that gasping breath that cut off sharply and returned as a harsh moan. "Ah fuck, Sammy," he groaned unevenly.

A second tremor wracked through Sam at the sound of Dean coming undone and a weak spurt of cum dribbled from his softening cock, splashing down across his knuckles. He brought his hand up to his mouth, licking the salty spend from his fingers with wet slurps.

"Tastes good, Dean," he rasped, "but not nearly as good as you."

A strangled cough sounded on the other end of the line and Sam chuckled, sitting up in his chair to grab a few tissues from the box on his desk. They were both quiet for a few moments as they caught their breath, Sam feeling a soothing calm wash through him with each slowing inhale and exhale he heard from Dean's end.

Sam gently folded his limp cock back into his boxers and wiped up the drying cum from his slacks. "Dean, that was amazing," he said softly, not attempting to hide the wonder in his voice.

"You're telling me," Dean replied with a small laugh. Sam could hear the swishing sound of a cloth on the other end of the line and could picture Dean cleaning himself off as well. He felt such an abrupt and strong desire to be there with him that his chest ached, the longing almost painful.

They fell into an easy silence again and Sam was about to say goodbye when Dean suddenly spoke up, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic insecurity when he said, "So, uh, you should definitely come to the softball game I'm coaching tomorrow. Y'know, if you're not busy or anything. Which I, um, know you've been freakin' swamped at work and all. But y'know, if you have time or whatever."

It felt so different for Sam to actually not be the awkward one that he was struck speechless for a moment. Awkward Dean was definitely adorable. Sam quickly found his words, clearing his throat to hide a chuckle. "Hell yeah, man. I should be able to swing that. What time?"

He could hear Dean puff out a deep breath and smiled, sitting up straighter in his chair, pride swelling his chest at the thought of making oh-so-confident Dean nervous. He grabbed a pencil and paper to write down the time and location of the game while Dean rattled off the information with just a barely audible hint of nervous excitement thrumming through his voice. When they ended their call, murmured 'ok's' and 'see you then's' done, Sam bolted up from his seat for a jump and shake to celebrate. So what, he knocked over his empty coffee cup and a stack of files. He was gonna see Dean again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>I hope that everyone is enjoying the story! Remember that you can always find me and my co-author, why-yes-i-do-like-that-show, on tumblr under the same usernames! You can also see fan art for the story there ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Please enjoy a nice, long chapter for all our loyal readers! Enjoy, you lovely people! ;)

* * *

><p>Dean called a timeout and made his way to the mound. Krissy Chambers, his star pitcher, was trying her best to ignore him as he drew closer but he was having none of her attitude today.<p>

"I know he's a douche," he started, finally standing next to her at the mound, "but if you bean him, he walks to first, we get an error and it'll be your third this season. Know what that means?"

She looked down at her feet as she dug the toe of her cleat into the red clay. She was a smart kid but a raw deal at home had left her with a chip the size of a bowling ball on her shoulder. As soon as her ex swaggered up to the plate, Dean knew she was gonna land one right between his eyes. He waited for her to reply, knowing she'd give in to rational thought eventually.

"It means I'll get benched the rest of the season," she finally replied, still gazing at her feet to hide her pain.

"You'll get benched," he repeated. "That's not fair to the rest of the team, is it? They work so hard to get those runs and catch everything that gets past you. Now you gotta kick in and buck up for them, okay?"

He knew Krissy was loyal, almost to a fault, and she'd put her team before her need for revenge. Dean knew the sting of infidelity, even for a teenager it hurts, but this team was Krissy's best shot at college. He was not going to let her attitude get in the way of that.

He smiled when she finally nodded, blinking back the tears of teenaged heartbreak.

"Besides," he reassured her, "if you strike him out, we can TP his house this weekend and he won't see it coming."

When her eyes lit up, Dean felt a rush of pride. He loved these kids more than he could admit out loud, and giving her a different option for blowing off steam was way more than any adult had done for him at that age. After a brief fist bump, Dean made his way back to the dugout to watch as the game resumed.

Benny Lafitte, Dean's boss and assistant coach, pulled up and leaned against the rail to watch with him.

"Is she gonna bean him?" he asked, his Louisiana drawl heavy, a full day of work and an evening of softball making him tired.

"Nope," Dean smiled and winked at Benny as Krissy earned the first strike, "I promised we'd TP his house if she can strike him out."

"Damn, brother," Benny laughed and then let out a hoot as her second strike sailed past the boy at bat. "You sure do have a way with these kids."

"Yeah well," Dean grinned but looked up into the stands when the batter took a step away from the plate. His coach was jogging over so Dean could spare a moment to look for Sam again. He'd missed the first two innings already and he knew six may be too early for him but seeing Sam waving at him with a hotdog in one hand and a ball cap in other made his heart flip-flop. Dean actually blushed and nodded back, suddenly shy about this part of his life. He played the bad boy for so long that his good side made him squirm when inspected.

Benny calling out encouragements drew Dean's attention back to the field and he watched Krissy prepare her pitch. She planted her feet perpendicular to the plate and pointed her glove just as Dean had drilled her. She rolled her shoulder, swung her arm back and then forward letting the ball fly towards the plate like a bullet. That poor boy never stood a chance.

When the umpire called the third strike and Dean's Blue Jays turn at bat , the crowd erupted with cheers and Krissy turned toward the dugout, her face a awash with surprise and joy. Dean was immediately out of the dugout and at the mound scooping her up into a bone crushing hug, his own cheers carrying over that of the crowd. He let her go quickly and looked her in the eye.

"You did it!" he gushed, "You kept your cool and struck that dumb ass out." He dragged her back to the dugout, the outfielders running to keep up. "See, you didn't have to hit him to let him know how strong you are. You're so much better than that now."

When they stepped across the line, Krissy was swarmed by the rest of her teammates, each congratulating her for "kicking his sorry ass." He stood back for a moment, letting the team and Benny celebrate before turning a thumbs up to the Sam in the crowd. He was suddenly bursting to tell him about these kids, wanting him to take as much pride in their successes as he did.

The celebration was finally brought to an end as a call from the umpire had Dean's batter jogging to the plate, an earful of instruction from Benny fresh in his head.

Sam put his ball cap on and pulled the brim down to shield his eyes from the intense late afternoon sunshine, returning Dean's thumbs up as he continued to watch the game raptly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a ball game - his high school days maybe? Certainly not in college; he had been too busy with is pre-law classes then. Now though, he hoped to have more time for things like this, especially now that he had Dean to do these things _with._

Sam's gaze shifted easily to him, his eyes seemingly drawn by the enticing sight of Dean in his baseball uniform, white pants hugging all the right places, dark blue on white accentuating his broad shoulders. He was too busy watching Dean tilt his head back to swig a bottle of water, the pink of his lips plain from the stands, to follow the batter's run to first. Dean's smile was easy and stunning as he watched the other coach talk to the next batter, a girl almost as tall as the two men. She nodded, grim determination on her face, and marched to the plate.

What was it about Dean that just drew people to him? Sam was impressed with how the kids really seemed to listen to him, not just the pitcher, but each player was taking a turn at talking and joking with him. Even the other coach, 'Coach Benny' his jersey read, was caught by Dean's charm, his laugh carrying over from the dugout. They both yelled encouragements to the batter and Sam turned his attention back to the game.

The first pitch zipped past her but the crack of the second pitch against the bat echoed across the field and now there were two runners on base. The next two batters received the same one-on-one attention before making their way to plate only to be struck out. Sam found himself on the edge of his seat cheering and jeering along with the parents and grandparents in the seats around him. When the next batter hit a homerun, bringing himself and the two runners home, Sam jumped to his feet with the rest of the crowd, waving his arms and yelling with more exuberance than he'd felt in far too long.

And so the innings went, each player working hard to load the bases and strike out batters. Sam learned that the pregnant woman to his left was Dean's left fielder's sister and the family to his right was representing the foster kid holding down third base for him. Sam also found himself tossing his arms up for the wave and singing along to the recording of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" as it was blasted over the PA system during the seventh inning stretch. He was having a blast.

All the while, Sam's eyes kept wandering back to the dugout, sometimes admiring his coach, sometimes sharing a smile with him. But for as much fun as Sam had been having, he couldn't help but notice again how close Dean seemed to be with Benny and a dark curiosity began to whisper at the back of his mind - a dismal remnant of those days when he had felt so utterly undeserving. Did the occasional touches and taps between the two linger longer than they should have? Was Benny pressing close to Dean's side when we whispered in his ear before turning to the next batter, or was Sam just imaging it?

The nagging doubts and uncertainties tied Sam's gut into a painful knot tighter and tighter with each touch and smile shared between the two and it wasn't long before his attention was taken completely off the game altogether.

By the end of the seventh and final inning, the Blue Jay's had lost the lead they won back in the fourth, 6-4 Dragons, but had a runner on second and third with just one out against them. Sam's attention _should_ have been on the last inning but instead his focus and scrutinization was drawn solely to the interactions unfolding in the dugout. It made him so unsettled to think that only knowing Dean for one damn week could make him feel the burn of jealousy so hotly in his chest. He hadn't ever met another man like Dean, so it wasn't really any wonder that he affected Sam so strongly, was it?

Sam swiped absently at a bead of sweat that rolled down his cheek as the sun continued to beat down on him. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to slow his heart where it thudded with a dull ache deep in his chest. Rational thought worked itself in weakly, trying to convince Sam that maybe he was overreacting just a little, but was quickly smothered by the sight of Benny, a wide grin curving his mouth, bringing a hand down to lay a firm slap right on Dean's ass. Sam sat unmoving and numb as the rest of the crowd around him erupted in an encouraging applause that Sam could not hope to even think of participating in.

Rubbing his backside, Dean watched Benny run out to give Clive last minute instruction, the same he'd given Miranda, stay relaxed and focus on the ball, hit what you can and run hard. They only had one out now so they had time to get the runners home and tie it up. He was thrilled that his kids were playing this well at Sam's first game, his personal excitement spreading to the kids and Benny. Dean took a seat, grimaced, then stood back up, practically hopping in place when Benny jogged back to his spot in the dugout.

"Brother, this is a great game," he laughed at Dean, "but you got ants in your pants to go along with that smart mouth. What is your deal? We're only midseason."

Dean placed a hand on Benny's shoulder and leaned in, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "I got a hot date after the game and it'll rock oh so much harder if we win."

"Damn but I should have guessed," Benny chuckled and threw his arm over Dean's shoulder and planted a hard slap to his chest. "You get more ass than a two-dollar hooker. Cheap and easy just like one too."

"Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful," Dean sassed back, walking back to the rail to watch Clive take a swing and a miss. "You're just mad you ain't as pretty as me."

"Damn straight, brother," Benny agreed, and then called an adjustment to Clive's stance.

The rest of the team, nine others total, lined the railing next to the coaches. A home run would win it for them but, although Clive hit the homerun in the fourth, he hadn't gotten two in one game before. The odds were against it but Dean felt like this just might be the game where it happened for him. Sam was here and that was like magic.

The whole field was quiet as the pitcher took his time on his windup, concentration making his face solemn. Clive cracked his neck, shook his head and then stepped back to the plate. The first ball had sailed passed, but Dean could see his determination to make the next swing count. When Dean saw the curveball heading to the plate, he puffed out a breath and readied for a strike, his fingers wiping sweat from his upper lip, but just then Clive hit the ball and it flew in a perfect arc and Dean jumped onto the rail, screaming for his kids to run.

Sasha crossed the plate first followed close by Daniel. When Clive slid into home, the catcher's glove missing him by inches, the crowd and dugout alike erupted, kids spilling onto the field to celebrate followed closely by their coaches. Dean hollered his excitement to his kids, pulling Clive in for a bear hug then doling out high fives all around. He looked back to the stands as the exhilaration started to die down, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam in the celebrating crowd, and saw a flash of long chestnut hair as Sam turned to squeeze behind the people beside him. Dean grinned broadly, thinking how to best tell him about his little surprise, but was quickly tugged back into the group of cheering kids before he could do much more that try to give Sam a little beckoning wave. He saw Benny slip away to greet the parents as they started making their way toward their children.

Sam tried slipping by the crush of the crowd around him as politely as he could without jostling anyone or drawing too much attention to himself when all he wanted to do was shove everyone out of the way and make a fucking beeline straight for his car in the parking lot. His face burned with embarrassment and anger from having to watch the far too friendly exchanges between Dean and his assistant coach and he huffed out a bitter laugh as he came to the bottom of the steps of the the bleachers. He felt like a damn idiot for thinking that a guy as gorgeous and charming as Dean would be interested in him and _only_ him.

He came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the stairs when Benny moved to stand before him, partially blocking his way. Benny grinned outright and offered his hand. "I thought I knew all the parents and guardians of our kiddos," he said loudly to be heard over the commotion, "Which one do you belong to?"

Sam shook his hand, forcing a tight smile to his lips and gave a short nod to where Dean was out on the field, surrounded by his team. "That one," he said tensely, pointing to the center of the mob. "I'm with Dean."

Something akin surprised understanding ticked across Benny's face, immediately tugging his grin into thoughtful frown then up into a smirk, and Sam knew he'd outstayed his welcome.

"Nice to meet you," he choked out cordially and bolted for the parking lot leaving Benny staring slack jawed after him.

Dean looked up from congratulating the group just as Benny walked over, glancing to the bleacher seats over Benny's shoulder but not seeing Sam anywhere. Benny read his confusion easily.

"If you're lookin' for your hot date, you might try that a way. The man took off like a damn bat outta hell," he said, jerking his thumb in the general direction Sam had just fled. "Why didn't you tell me you was seeing someone? He coulda sat in the dugout with us."

Confusion and worry instantly deflated Dean's excitement and he quickly turned to Benny. "It's a new thing, man," he admitted, worry creasing his brow. "I gotta go. You be okay to get these guys taken care of?"

"I got this," Benny assured with a laugh. "Andrea's holding tables for us already. My baby girl will miss you but I hate all that attention she gives you instead of me anyway."

Dean smirked but was off, jogging as fast as he was able _comfortably_, pushing through the throng of people exiting the stands. He caught a glimpse of Sam just as he was getting into his car and rushed over before he could drive away.

He tapped on Sam's driver's side window right as he turned the engine over and Sam jumped, his cheeks and ears flushing a deep angry red. Sam looked at him through the glass, his brows drawing together with a look that worried Dean even more, and slowly rolled down the window.

"Sam, hey, what's going on? Where are you going?" Dean asked, a little breathless from his jog from the field.

Sam glanced away, dragging a hand through his hair, before looking back up at Dean. "It's nothing. I just...I just wanna go home. It's been a really, _really_ long day for me."

Dean felt a twinge of disappointment, still not understanding Sam's sudden change, but decided to press on. "Why don't you come to my place?" he asked, an enticing smile curling up one side of his mouth.

Sam scoffed, shaking his head and tightening his hands over the steering wheel. Dean bent forward carefully, leaning his forearms on the warm car door, watching as the sunset drenched Sam's face and hair in a wash of red and yellow and pink light. "I've got a surprise for you," he said, "Something I've been waiting to show you all day. Will you please just follow me to my house?"

Sam looked back at his hands, still feeling the painful stab of jealousy cutting at his insides. Seeing Dean so obviously close to someone else had made him feel so uncontrollably upset and foolish and all he really wanted to do was run away and hide. But then he remembered that they had never actually agreed to be mutually _exclusive_, and even though the sex between them was amazing, Dean had never really hinted at something long term, had he?

Sam glanced to Dean then back to his hands, letting one fall to the gear shift, and nodded begrudgingly without looking over at him. "Okay," he bit out, pride still bruised and aching.

Dean grinned and thumped the car door before pushing back and jogging, Sam noticed, a little unsteadily toward his Impala. Sam rolled his eyes to the roof of his car and huffed out a harsh sigh, pushing into drive and following Dean out of the parking lot.

He tried to calm himself on the seemingly endless drive to Dean's house, telling himself that he was being irrational and unreasonable, but every time he got close to getting himself under control he remembered the way Dean had smiled at Benny, the way they had acted so goddamn _easy_ with each other, and he boiled over once again, that deep seated self-doubt bubbling right to the surface. Why would Dean even waste his time with a guy like Sam anyways? Because he had nothing better to do?

The questions kept eating at him and by the time he turned onto the long gravel driveway that led to a small house behind a large copse of trees, Sam was nearly consumed with a burning indignation. He skidded his car to a stop beside the Impala, throwing up a cloud of dust into the darkening twilight cloaking the clearing and tore out of the driver's seat. Dean looked over at him with a smile that quickly faded when he saw the anger etching hard lines into Sam's face.

"Look man, _what_ is bothering you? You gotta talk to me here." Dean spread his hands out in a pleading gesture and then hooked his thumbs in his belt loops when Sam started to make his way around the hood of his car to where Dean stood.

"You wanna know what's bothering me?" Sam said, voice pitched low but echoing into the early evening stillness surrounding them. He crossed and then uncrossed his arms, deciding to instead slam his hands down on his hips. "How 'bout we start with the game tonight, Dean? I know we haven't known each other that long, but I really thought there was something special going on here between us." He blushed hotly, feeling like maybe he was revealing too much of himself but not knowing how to backtrack, or if he even wanted to.

Dean looked taken aback and he started to lean back against the Impala before blinking rapidly and straightening up again. "What are you talking about? What happened at the game?" Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, no sign of comprehension in his expression at all.

Sam barked out a short, incredulous laugh. "Benny, Dean!" he said. "I saw the way you guys were together! What the hell is the point of stringing me along like this?"

Dean's eyes went wide and Sam's heart plummeted, skipping a few beats as he waited only for Dean to voice the truth so he could cut his losses and just fucking leave already. And then Dean started to laugh, earnest giggles that quickly turned into hearty chuckles. Sam's frown deepened and it was his turn to show no signs of comprehension.

"_Benny?!"_ Dean finally said. "You think me and _Benny_…? We've been friends since college. Sam, he's my boss!" Dean's face suddenly turned somber. "I wouldn't… Sammy, I wouldn't ever do something like that to you, I swear."

A sudden rush of understanding and then shame flooded through Sam as Dean's words sunk in and it left him feeling lacking but also relieved, hollow yet full, and he advanced on Dean rapidly, closing the distance between them with one long stride. He hooked one hand behind Dean's neck, roughly pulling him forward, so close that their noses almost touched.

"You swear?" he rasped.

Dean nodded, the deep emerald pools of his eyes depthless in the dusky light. "Yes," he said.

The word barely passed his lips before Sam was turning him and bending him over the hood of the Impala behind him. He let out a surprised grunt and then a laugh, hands splaying out over the glossy, black paint beneath him, as Sam pressed up against his ass, instantly and achingly rock hard. Sam covered Dean's body with his own, bringing his mouth to the back of Dean's neck, nipping at the soft skin and short hairs there, before his lips found the velvety curve of Dean's ear, a desperate whine in his voice.

"I can't stand seeing anyone else's hands on you, Dean. It makes me fucking crazy, you know that?"

Dean groaned roughly, arching back against Sam. "Won't happen again, Sammy," he panted, the sincerity in his voice making Sam's heart thud painfully against his ribcage.

Sam growled and pushed up from Dean's back, threading his long fingers into Dean's hair and giving a hard tug, earning a hiss and a deep rumbling chuckle from Dean beneath him. He thrust his hips forward, nudging his erection against the curve of Dean's supple cheeks hidden under his stark white baseball pants, breathing in a deep shuddering breath of the intermingling scents of jasmine and orange blossom and _Dean_ that permeated the darkening clearing. But his hard cock found something equally as hard as he pumped forward and he suddenly stilled, pulling back with a bemused grunt. His hands came to rest on Dean's hips and he rolled his groin forward experimentally, again feeling that hard resistance pushing back.

"Dean, is that...?" Sam let the question fall away, feral fucking desire ratcheting his arousal even higher, and he scrambled to reach beneath Dean to undo his pants and shove them down over the curve of that luscious ass.

Dean shifted beneath him, chuckling and rolling his hips back. "I told you I had a surprise for you, baby boy."

The sight he was treated to then, with Dean bent over the hood of his car, his pants and underwear pulled down to his thighs, and a big shiny metal anal plug shoved in his ass and stretching his rim had Sam very nearly coming in his slacks like a goddamn teenager.

"D - did you wear this all day?" Sam choked, bringing a hand down to rub two fingers around the wide flat base, completely and utterly awestruck.

Dean shuddered at the touch, his stretched hole clenching around the plug, and he let out a needy moan before he could bite it back. He had been so excited about seeing Sam again that he had taken his time that morning, painstakingly stretching himself enough to work the plug snugly inside, wanting to make it easy for Sam to just push that beautiful cock right in. Each subtle shift of his body had reminded him that the plug was there, each movement a sweet promise of the fullness and pleasure that was to come.

"Yeah, Sammy. All day," he said. "I wanted to be ready for you."

There was suddenly the pressure of Sam's fingers pressing against the base of the plug, giving it a shallow push, and Dean gasped. The rounded tip rubbed right along the hard knot of his prostate and a thick spurt of precome dribbled from his engorged cock where it was trapped against the car. He rocked back with a deep groan, seeking more of Sam's touch and let out a frustrated whimper when he felt Sam draw back.

But then the sound of a zipper and the rustling of clothes behind him, followed quickly by the crinkling of a condom being opened, hit Dean's ears like a sweet, sweet song, nearly drowning him in the anticipation of being filled in that way that only Sam could offer. It was a fullness Dean had craved all fucking week and couldn't come close to replicating, even with the various sized dildos he had used as a feeble substitute on all those nights he was alone in his bed.

He _yearned _for Sam and with an intensity that kind of scared him, if he was being completely honest with himself. He had _never _felt a strong connection to anyone like he did with Sam, a guy he'd known for barely a week. It was almost like they had known each other in a past life, like they had shared an unbreakable bond, like they had been through hell and back together.

Dean shook the thoughts away, forcing his mind to focus on the here and now and not the significance of what those thoughts might really mean for him, for _them, _and arched his back, trying to thrust his ass closer to Sam.

"C'mon, man," he said, wriggling his hips encouragingly, "I need to feel you. I need you to fill me up, Sammy, _please."_

One of Sam's hands, large and warm, grasped his hip in a tight hold, while the other gripped the base of the plug buried in his ass. Sam rocked it back and forth a few times, eliciting from Dean the most pitiful sobs and pleas.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam said, his voice tight and raw, "I could never get tired of hearing the sounds you make. _Never."_

And with that he tugged the plug out. It slid out with a wet noise, momentarily stretching Dean's rim even more as the bulbous head was removed, and Dean hissed sharply at the burn. Sam rubbed soothing circles on Dean's hip with his thumb, even as he sunk his cock into Dean's gaping hole with a deeply penetrating thrust, bottoming out fully on that first brutal plunge.

Dean cried out, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth metal beneath him, his back bowing with the perfection of Sam's cock, so thick and long, finally stuffed deep inside him. He brought a hand back, tangling his fingers with Sam's on his hip, holding on tightly as Sam began pumping in and out of him with jarring strokes.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the sound of Sam's grunts reverberating all around him, smelling the cloying and intoxicating scent of sex seeping into his fucking pores, feeling Sam's dick pounding into the overwrought bundle of nerves inside his throbbing channel with every thrust. It all piled on top of him, crushing him with sensation, dragging him to the very cusp of orgasm.

And then Sam's hand was snaking under him, wrapping around his neglected and leaking dick, twisting and pulling in a rhythm that nearly matched those of Sam's cock as it pummeled into him. It only took three full strokes of Sam's hand and Dean was coming, coming so fucking _hard,_ bucking back onto Sam's dick and screaming his name in a broken shout as forceful jets of cum erupted out of him.

His hole squeezed tightly around Sam's dick with the spasms that quaked through his whole body and Sam groaned loudly, letting go of Dean's cock to grasp both hips for leverage, pounding into Dean frantically with thrusts that rocked the Impala on her struts.

And then Sam pulled Dean's ass flush against him abruptly, pushing in as deep as he could go, emptying his spend into the condom, filling and expanding it with a tremendous load of cum that Dean wished was actually filling _him. _He wanted Sam's come inside him, he wanted it spilling out of him. The desire was so strong and indescribably vivid that he started coming all over again before Sam had even pulled out, draining what little cum there was left in his dick down the side panel of his car, his body shaking uncontrollably and hopelessly spent.

Sam buried his face between Dean's shoulder blades and let out the heavy breath he'd been holding when he came, his panting then hot against Dean's back. He squeezed his arms a little tighter around Dean's powerful chest and then jumped when he felt a hand on his own.

"I should piss you off more often," Dean teased, leaning his head back to touch Sam's. He looked down at the mess on his precious car and his no-longer-bright-white uniform pants and chuckled again.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Sam's voice was quiet but clear and he pulled out and away as Dean shuffled to turn to Sam. Instead of the hard anger or indignant pain he expected to cross Dean's face, he saw a glimmer of understanding that he wasn't quite ready for.

"No way, Sammy," Dean chided patiently. "No backing down now. I like you pissed off and grabby. No guilt trips allowed." Dean pulled Sam to him, mess and all, and leaned them both back against Baby. "Besides, I get all tingly when you take control like that."

When a smile finally graced Sam's face, Dean pulled him in for a kiss, tender and giving compared to the frantic coupling a moment before. Sam nodded his amused agreement but sighed heavily before he spoke.

"I'm not sorry I just fucked you brains out," Sam started, his smile turning shy.

Dean wiggled a finger in his ear and replied, "I got a few brain cells left and they are jealous."

Sam frowned at Dean's choice of words but continued, "But I am sorry I got so angry. I meant what I said and it's really kind of scary, you know?"

Dean sobered instantly, the playful teasing he was trying falling away. He took Sam's face in his hands and searched Sam's colorful colorless eyes.

"I'm scared too, Sammy." he confessed, "Because whatever we have between us, I feel it too and I'm not sure what to do about it yet. So, in the meantime, how about we get cleaned up and fed and then fuck some more?"

Sam smiled again, deeper this time, shaking his head. "Okay," he conceded, "that sounds really great."

* * *

><p>We commissioned the lovely and incomparable Kamidiox to do fan art for our fic, but this site won't let me paste the pictures into the story :( You can see the adorable and amazing art if you visit the artist who can be found on tumblr under the same username! It's a picture of the first time Sam saw Dean outside on the window washer's scaffolding! *_*<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

When Sam crossed the threshold into Dean's cabin, he expected a rustic mess that spoke to lots of partying and late nights and sex. He felt a bit guilty for the assumption when he saw the spartan organization of the space, the foyer opening to a large square room with doors leading presumably to bedrooms and bathroom on one side and an open aired kitchen separated by a long bar on the other. The hardwood floor was covered in thick and brightly colored throw rugs that accentuated the dark reds and creams of the lone couch and dining room table. Along one wall ran a large entertainment center with the usual suspects but it was the drafting table that drew Sam into the room.

Where a normal living room would house a love seat, stood a vintage architectural drafting table complete with wrought iron legs, hand crank and a smooth maplewood surface. The drafting machine was resting at the corner and several tools and cups of pencils and pens were lining the shelves.

"Wow," Sam couldn't keep the admiration from his voice. "This looks amazing." His eyes swept over the work-in-progress drawing of an office building. The structure was a blend of harsh lines and supple curves that melted into what looked to be pond at the front of the building. It looked modern but inviting and Sam couldn't help but lean down to inspect the details that Dean had been working on. "I can't believe you walked away from this. You are really talented."

Dean clenched his jaw against the praise, an expression Sam was too distracted to see, and stepped between Sam and the table.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "I suck at office politics." He hooked Sam's hand in his own and tugged him into the kitchen. "If you think I'm great at designing buildings, you should see me design meals."

He stopped in front of the industrial fridge and yanked the doors open proudly. He watched Sam's eyes roam earnestly over the chopped vegetables and fresh herbs on the various shelves before leaning in and pulling down a pan of steaks.

"You're not the only one who planned ahead," Dean grinned wide and gestured to the duffle bag in Sam's hand as he set the steaks on the counter. Sam's blush made his heart beat double and he shooed the taller man away from the fridge as he headed back for more ingredients.

Sam's eyes were incandescent as the meal Dean had planned fell into place, a steak and spinach salad with homemade Italian dressing? He was an amazing lover, great with kids _and_ he could cook? Was there no end to Dean's hidden talents? Sam was suddenly very excited to find out what other secrets Dean was hiding.

He smiled to himself and set his duffle down beside the couch before making his way back to the kitchen, helping to set the table after Dean had pointed out which cupboards housed the appropriate dishes. Sam sat fascinated at the bar and watched Dean, barefoot now, as he seared and sliced the steaks and then plated the salads with flare and gusto. He turned the lights down low and handed Sam their beers as he ushered him to the table, plates in hand. Dean turned on his stereo letting mullet rock join the choirs of cicadas singing outside the kitchen window.

Sam heaped compliments on Dean when he got his first taste of the delicious meal and Dean blushed under the accolades, grinning and mumbling around a mouthful of food that next time it would be Sam's turn to cook. Sam agreed with a slight hesitancy and a nervous laugh, admitting to Dean what an absolutely awful cook he was, and Dean wasted no time in offering to teach him some of his favorite recipes, delighting Sam with the prospect of more dates.

An easy and comfortable silence fell between them, a soft power ballad serenading as they continued to eat. Dean was glad that Sam didn't ask him anymore about his past career, his past _life. _He knew he'd have to tell Sam at some point, he just didn't want to ruin what was growing between them, especially if that past was a completely different version of the man he was now, especially if it would change the way Sam thought of him.

Dinner began to wind down, dusk having come and gone, and Sam sat back in his chair, rubbing over his full and satisfied stomach. "That was amazing, Dean," he said, smiling across the table at him. "I haven't had a decent meal since I started on that case last week. Thank you."

He quickly brought up a hand to stifle a yawn and Dean chuckled, getting up from the table and making his way around to where Sam sat, standing behind him and settling his hands down on Sam's shoulders. He began kneading his fingers into the tight muscle there and grinned when he heard Sam let out a deep moan. He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss behind Sam's ear and stirring his hair with his breath.

"Why don't we leave the cleanup until tomorrow, baby boy? Let's go to bed," he whispered softly. The mess of empty plates and half drunk beer bottles could wait; Dean had more important work ahead of him.

He felt Sam melt under his hands and smiled when Sam nodded. He led him away from the table and across the living room, glancing back over his shoulder to see Sam give him a tired smile. He tugged Sam across the threshold and clicked on a bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated the room invitingly and Dean turned back to Sam where he stood swaying wearily beside the bed.

The man had had a hell of a damn week and Dean only wanted to take care of him for all the hard work he'd put in down at the courthouse. Dean had never known anyone as dedicated to their job as Sam was - well maybe Dean himself had been before his life had hit rock bottom, but that was a whole lifetime ago, far too long for it to matter anymore.

In this moment, though, Dean wanted Sam to know his devotion to all those late nights wouldn't go unnoticed, least of all by him. Earlier in the driveway had been all about hunger and heat and rough intensity, but right now Dean wanted to give Sam soft and slow.

Sam began unbuttoning his dress shirt and Dean quickly brought a hand up, covering it over Sam's and stilling his movements. "Let me take care of you, Sammy," he said, looking up slowly.

He could see Sam's throat work as he swallowed and felt a warm rush of arousal wash over him gently when Sam's eyes darkened with desire in the low light. Sam's hands fell limply to his sides and Dean willed his fingers to stop trembling long enough to get the buttons undone. The few short days they had been together had felt so damn _frantic, _but this, this was so much more intimate, in an almost daunting kind of way. They had already bared themselves to each other, physically speaking, but Dean suddenly found that he wanted to bear himself emotionally too, wanted to reveal everything about himself, even those dark, hidden parts, but stopped himself short. Going that far could do more irreparable damage than Dean was really ready to face and so he pushed away the desire before he could really act on it.

Dean finished undoing the last button on Sam's shirt and pulled it from his body tenderly then stood back to admire his muscular shoulders against the tank top undershirt. His skin was warm under Dean's fingers as he traced the tank before pulling it up and over Sam's head, depositing in on the floor with his dress shirt. He turned his giant charge and pushed him back to sit on the bed, Sam's halfhearted protested shushed by a single line:

"Shut it, Sasquach."

Dean pulled off his own jersey and then his pants before kneeling to slip off Sam's socks, his shoes lost along the way just as Dean's had been, using the material to clean the fluff from his feet. Dean was surprised to feel his heart thudding against his ribs at Sam's breathy sigh, almost a sleepy sound. Taking care of Sam brought him almost as much joy as fucking him brought pleasure, more even.

Sam yawned once more as he reached out to pull Dean close for a sloppy kiss, parting with a laugh as Dean worked the belt and zipper of his slacks. Once they were both down to boxers, Dean slipped Sam under the covers then made the last rounds of the cabin, turning off the lights and locking the doors. He expected to see a giant snoozing puppy when he got back and was thrilled to see Sam propped up on his elbows, a lopsided grin making his hazel eyes sparkle. _My god, he's beautiful. _Dean's breath was stolen.

He quickly shucked his boxers and jumped in the bed alongside him, sliding under the light comforter and scooting close to where Sam was laying, turned over on his side now to face Dean. They were both quiet for a long moment, drinking in the sight of each other, before Dean raised up a hand, brushing a lock of hair from Sam's temple. Sam smiled that slow, easy smile again and Dean was suddenly and hopelessly lost to the tender emotions swelling inside him.

He cupped Sam's cheek and pressed his body close against him, slotting their lips together in a languid and gentle kiss that warmed him from the inside out. He coaxed Sam's mouth open and drank in a deep, deep taste. The sweetness of him, lingering and strong, melted across Dean's tongue and he moaned, knowing he could go the rest of his life and never again savor anything as delicious and mouthwatering as Sam.

He pulled back after a moment, pressing his forehead to Sam's and gasping for breath. Sam shuddered against him and echoed the sound of his panting breaths, little whimpers escaping when Dean threaded his hands into Sam's hair and tugged his head back gently to lay wet kisses to Sam's exposed neck.

"How do you get away with this hair, Sammy?" he asked, his tongue swiping across skin.

Sam groaned when Dean moved down to mouth over his collarbone, warm surges of desire thumping down to pool low in his belly with each press of those plump lips, and he brought a hand up to rub the curve of Dean's hip. His growing erection pressed insistently against Dean's stomach and he tried to push Dean over onto his back, the intention of straddling his hips and plunging down on his cock driving his movements.

Dean pulled back from where he was suckling on Sam's nipple to shake his head lightly. "Let me take care of you, baby boy," he said again.

Sam could only nod. How could me refuse an offer like that? He let out a slow sigh and let Dean roll him into his back and then slide over and between his open legs. Another moan filtered from Sam's throat at the touch and his dick pushed tighter against the restrictive fabric of his boxers. Dean's weight on him applied perfect pressure and he rocked his body up into pleasure, savoring Dean's wet mouth on his chest.

"I missed you," Dean whispered against Sam's skin as he inched his way down. He didn't do sappy but tonight felt so different. He turned his mossy eyes up to Sam as he dipped his tongue into his navel, both hopeful and afraid that his vulnerability would show. And then it was there, the insistent hunger wrapped in tender warmth that made Sam so irresistible, feral and childlike in one body.

"Oh man," Sam's words washed over him as he was pushed up and back for another luscious kiss. "I wanted to see you all week, Dean. I was going crazy."

Satisfied, Dean pushed him back down and let his own hot breath wash over Sam's hard member before speaking again.

"Gonna make up for lost time," he promised, then spread his lips over Sam's swollen head, the tight fabric seasoned with precum. His desire to tease was quickly overtaken by his need to please and he pulled Sam's boxers down and off, spreading his legs wide to admire him like a treasure.

When he dipped his head again, it was with a singular purpose - to ready his precious Sammy. Wrapping his arms around Sam's thighs, Dean lapped at the skin at the crook of his thigh before nuzzling and suckling his sac. Sam's scent was intoxicating and he took a deep drag even as he rolled one of his balls in his mouth.

Sam's legs fell further apart and he groaned in appreciation. When Dean's tongue teased lower, his groan turned into a grunt and he arched his back, a whispered 'please' carrying down to Dean. It was all the permission he needed. Dean pushed Sam's legs up to open his tender hole to his wicked wishes.

As Dean's tongue made its first pass, Sam gripped his thighs, holding himself open. He wanted to be shy, but his need for what Dean had offered yesterday, what he was offering now, was too tempting to ignore. To lay back and let waves of bliss roll up his spine and across his skin was heaven, an indulgence he'd so rarely explored. As his muscles relaxed and invited Dean's fingers, Sam fought to keep his breathing even, his dripping cock swaying in time to his gasping breaths.

"Please," he whispered again. He knew full well and yet was completely ignorant of what he was asking for. Just release...or more? Ownership? Partnership?

"I know, baby boy," Dean crooned as he moved back up Sam's body, "I know. But not yet, Sammy. Hold it off for me. You can do it, okay?"

And then he was being turned over onto his other side with Dean's body heat seeping into his back and the soft stroke of Dean's hand along his side sending wave after wave of passion flowing over him. He arched back, feeling the hard nudge of Dean's cock against his ass, but suddenly stilled.

"Protection?" he asked with a needy rasp, the hand he didn't have resting under his head gripping into the sheets.

"Way ahead of you," Dean said, the sound of ripping foil punctuating the last word. The slick sound of a condom being rolled on and a slathering of lube over that kicked Sam's heart to a desperate thundering that roared through his ears.

He felt his breath catch in his chest as Dean's cock pushed forward and up, slipping wetly between the cleft of his ass cheeks, prodding right up against his prepared hole, his hand tugging Sam's leg over his own. Dean's arm was suddenly wrapping over his side and around his chest, holding Sam's back tightly against his front, his mouth brushing against the nape of his neck. His rushed breath washed hotly against the fine hairs there when he murmured, "I'm gonna fill you up, baby boy. You ready?"

And then Dean was working inside him, breaching that first ring of muscle with a slow, burning stretch that made Sam cry out with the ecstasy of that first initial intrusion. Dean held him closer, so close that Sam could feel the thud of Dean's heart knocking against his back. He tipped his hips back, drawing Dean in deeper, wanting, _needing_, to feel all of him inside. But Dean took his time, pushing forward inch by inch, the hard ridge at the crown of his cock stretching his rim with an aching perfection that drove Sam damn near senseless with desire before Dean's thick, steely shaft finally began sliding in.

"Dean, oh god," Sam gasped, his fingers digging into the sheets hard enough to almost shred the fabric.

Dean groaned in response, his head pressed between Sam's shoulder blades, and pushed in all the way then, bottoming out flush up against Sam's firm ass. His hand slid down Sam's sweat-slick skin, over his toned chest and belly, trailing all the way to Sam's throbbing, leaky dick as he held them both still. He wrapped the long member in a tight grip and Sam bucked back with a hoarse moan at the desperately needed touch, throwing his head back to rest against Dean's shoulder.

"Just hold on a little bit longer, Sammy," Dean husked, drawing his hips back slowly. He pulled almost all the way out of Sam's pulsating channel before pushing back inside with a deliberate and calculated thrust. "God _damn, _you feel so good, baby boy, squeezed so tight around me."

The arousal that had been coiling so tightly in Sam's gut came that much closer to unraveling at the desperate sound of Dean's voice and he canted his hips forward to fuck into Dean's fist, now slick with precome, then swaying back to take Dean deep inside once more. It was a beautiful but torturous give and take that propelled Sam to the very edge of his control.

"I can't... Dean, I'm gonna, oh god," Sam sobbed the words, not even able to form a complete sentence around the clamor of arousal filling his brain.

Dean began to thrust up into Sam's ass in earnest then with short, shallow plunges that were frantic but simultaneously graceful, groaning to Sam urgently, "Me too, Sammy. I want you to come with me, right at the same time, okay? I need to feel your cock pulsing in my hand when mine is pulsing in your ass. Oh god, you have no idea how much I need that."

Sam nodded fervently, knowing he would only have to hear Dean give him the go ahead and he'd be set off like a goddamn firecracker. "When, Dean?" he whimpered, feeling his balls draw up heavy and tight between his sweaty thighs.

Dean slammed up against his ass roughly, giving one last twisting pull of his first on Sam's dick. "Now, Sammy. Right fuckin now."

And then they shot like a pair of rockets into space, with flames and sparks racing through each, their hearts pounding a furious and near identical cadence as they collided with the all the shinning stars in the sky. Sweet ecstasy blinded them to the whole world except each other as its rippling tide swept through them and then receded slowly away, leaving both them and the bed sticky with saliva, sweat and Sam's honeyed cum.

Dean gently released Sam's softening cock and wrapped his arm snugly across his chest, holding Sam close against him, his chest heaving and sticking to Sam's back from their combined sweat. Pure, unadulterated bliss flooded over him and he held onto Sam tighter, clamping onto him like a lifeline.

Dean was falling, falling faster and harder than he ever had before, and while that prospect in any other circumstance would have scared the absolute shit out of him, this felt right. It just felt so goddamn _right. _He really had no other words or way to describe it.

He slowly drifted into a hard won sleep like a man sinking into the warmth of a tranquil bath, surrounded and enveloped in a peace he had rarely ever experienced, a smile on lips and Sam's name ghosting from his mouth on a contented sigh.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **We sincerely apologize for how long this chapter took to post. There was a combination of writer's block and a severe cold that prevented us from working on it for a while. Thank you so much, dear readers, for sticking with us through all of it. We should be back on track now! Thanks again and always for reading, commenting on, and leaving kudos on this story. You guys really do mean the world to us 3

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><p>"Sam, wake up."<p>

Sam mumbled something about five more minutes and rolled away from the voice, already falling back into the amazing dream he'd been having of Dean scantily clad in a schoolgirl outfit and bent over the desk in Sam's office. His pink plaid skirt was hiking up over the curve of his ass to reveal just the barest hint of hot pink lace and Sam reached his hand forward slowly.

But he was shaken from his dream by the voice again, just as he was grazing his fingertips under the hem of the short skirt and lifting it up to see what was hiding underneath...

"Wake up, baby boy. I wanna show you something," Dean was saying with a low chuckle.

Sam groaned and blinked his eyes open slowly, seeing that it was still dark but for a shaft of silvery moonlight pouring in through the window across the room. He yawned, rolling toward Dean. "What time is it?" he asked with a voice that was slightly rusty and tired.

Dean smiled, his eyes sparkling even in the dim light. "It's still late," he said softly, "but I want to show you something outside."

Sam sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, intrigued by Dean's excitement. "What is it?"

"Put your boxers on and I'll show you," Dean replied with a mischievous grin, scooting his way out of the bed.

Sam swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stretched his back before standing up to try and search for his underwear in the dark. Dean rounded the foot of the bed, holding them out for him. Sam smiled, grabbing them from Dean's outstretched hand and stepped into them quickly.

He followed Dean through his darkened house to what he assumed was a mudroom near the back door.

"Forget the shoes," Dean said, waving for Sam to drop his shoe and follow him out the back door. He was carrying a pair of towels but dropped them on the steps as he made his way off the porch and headed for a path in the trees across the yard. He followed Dean with teasing pushes and snarky remarks about serial killers and hockey masks.

"Just you wait, Sammy," was Dean's only retort. His excitement was palpable and Sam suddenly wanted to jog out to this mysterious surprise. He could see well enough; the path was clear and the moonlight washed the trees and dirt and grass with a warm silver glow. Just ahead he could see the part in the trees and could make out a dock and a lake, a pond maybe, just beyond.

"This looks like a great spot for summer cookouts," he said before stopping just outside the treeline. Tucked in the middle of the wide clearing was a lake, small but too big to be a pond, with a dock that looked new. The water was dark and still and Sam turned to Dean, his mouth open in disbelief at the beauty that was hiding right in the man's backyard.

It was as if the sky left a smear of itself behind as a gift and Sam was left breathless and in awe of the vision Dean was sharing with him. From the surface of the water, the stars were staring back up to the sky in a perfect reflection of brilliant black and sparkling night, each twin twinkling as joyfully as the original overhead. He let Dean take his hand and, stepping backwards, pull him towards the dock.

"Ever taken a swim in the night sky?" he asked, his eyes glowing with dovelike excitement. When he reached the end of the dock, he sat down, tugging Sam down with him and let his feet hang down to sink into the water.

"When I got here and was looking for a place, I drove past this overgrown patch of land," Dean looked out across the water to the trees on the other side, quietly searching the darkness. "It was just trees and dirt, but something told me to pull over. I stopped to check the lot and found this. It's a full acre but I bought it a week later."

"You built the house?" Sam asked, respect plain in his voice. "That's your design?"

"Yeah, well," his standard answer for questions he wasn't ready to answer. "This place was a mess and needed a fresh start. Kind of like me at the time." A weak smile pulled at Dean's lips when he turned to Sam and away again, still hand in hand. "I come out here to think or to just to shut out the noise, ya know? When I just need to be alone for a while."

He finally focused olive eyes on Sam completely. They were so full of pain and longing and hope, each emotion taking a turn on Dean's face, before settling on patience and self-depreciation. Sam let his gaze pass over the lush greenery and the inviting water again, Dean's words rolling over in his head. This was a special place for him, a sanctuary to hide from the burdens of life. For a moment Sam wished that he had one of his own, a place to escape long enough to put all of his thoughts back onto their proper shelves before heading out into the world.

And then the meaning of Dean's silent emotions rang clear. Dean was sharing his inner space with him. He was allowing him to see a side he held close to his chest for protection and Dean was inviting him to share it.

"Why did you call me again?" The words spilled out like unruly birds, desperate for flight and Sam was immediately embarrassed by his needful question.

He slowly drug his eyes back to Dean, wondering for the millionth time what he had ever done to deserve a man like this, a man that would trust Sam enough to bring him here, and after they had only known each other for one week.

"Why wouldn't I?" Dean asked in return, no humor or teasing in his eyes, only an insecurity that Sam hadn't yet seen. There was no denying the connection between them was strong, stronger than Sam had ever felt, but it all seemed to be happening so fast.

"I haven't had many lasting or meaningful relationships before," Sam started, pulling his hand away from Dean's and rubbing both down his face. "_None,_ if I'm being totally honest here, and I know that was all my fault. I just didn't have a lot to offer, like ever, and I just don't know what the rules are." Sam let out a heavy sigh and waited for Dean to speak.

"Honesty is a good rule," Dean said, rubbing his palms against his thighs before turning slightly towards Sam and taking his hand back into his own. "Look, I'm no saint, Sam. I've got some ghosts following me around and I have to admit that I played the field. I played a lot, but I promise that I am not doing that here. I… I just… whatever is going on here, I know it's special. I don't want to hurt you or push you away, okay? No matter how this falls out, it is not because of you or something you think you don't have."

Sam searched Dean's face and then his eyes for the lies, the hunt having almost everything to do with his own fragile perception of himself. There was a constant worry that ran at the back of his mind like a swift but hidden current that tried convincing him that on some level he wasn't good enough, that if he happened to fall back to the weight he was in college he'd be as good as invisible again.

"This is nice, like really," Dean said waving his free hand over Sam's face and body, "but this," he tapped his fingers against Sam's forehead, "this is beautiful. And way more than I deserve, Sammy."

Sam's laugh echoed across the water harshly before he spoke, "Dean you have no idea what you deserve. I mean you…"

"I'm serious, Sam," Dean cut him short. "I'm not a nice man, not really. I'm just really lucky that I got a second chance and that I found you."

Sam turned to study the scenery again, the words rolling around in his head once more. How could someone as seemingly perfect as Dean feel so undeserving of… affection? He wondered for a moment if this was what people thought when they looked at him - the total package with a bright future looking for someone to share it with - with no inclination of the horrors he put himself through on the daily. Hateful thoughts take their toll. Maybe he and Dean weren't as different as he was assuming. Did it really matter?

Sam turned back to Dean, a huge grin plastered to his face. "Didn't you say something about swimming?"

Dean frowned momentarily, noting Sam's obvious evasion of the topic at hand, but decided against pressing Sam to reveal anymore if he was uncomfortable; the last thing he wanted to do was drive Sam away. He did vow though to keep showing Sam how incredible he was, and in as many ways as possible, until he finally saw himself as Dean saw him - as worthy and deserving and valuable and _wanted. _

He forced his frown away, settling a wide grin in its place. "I _did _say something about swimming," he said, letting Sam's hand go with a warm squeeze and standing up. "But this is more than just swimming, Sammy," he pulled his boxer shorts down, standing naked and proud in the moonlight, "This is skinny dipping in a lake of stars."

Sam looked up at him, his eyes wide as saucers, before dropping down to Dean's cock hanging heavy and limp between his legs, right at Sam's eye level from where he still sat on the dock. "You're serious?" he asked skeptically, his gaze slowly dragging back up Dean's body. "What if someone sees us?"

Dean chuckled, reaching down to tug Sam to his feet. "Don't tell me you're feeling shy _now, _Sammy. After what happened in the driveway, I'm surprised you have one modest bone left in your body."

Sam blushed and shook his head with a laugh, looking around the tree-lined space, still clearly uncertain. Dean smiled gently and stepped up close to him, settling his hands down on Sam's hips and dipping just the tips of his fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

"There's no one around for miles, Sammy. C'mon, I promise that nobody's gonna see you." He nuzzled into the crook of Sam's neck, nibbling at the soft, warm flesh there.

Sam huffed out a shuddering breath that Dean felt skip across his shoulder. "You think you're pretty persuasive, don't you?" he asked on an exhale.

Dean chuckled, mouthing a wet bite to Sam's throat. "I dunno, Sammy, you tell me," he said as he started pulling Sam's underwear down.

Sam didn't object at all, not when Dean tugged his boxers down to pool at his ankles, not even when Dean stepped back to admire his body in the soft silver glow of the moon beams settling down about his shoulders and frosting the tips of his hair. Sam pulled his gaze up from where it had been focused at his feet and centered his beautiful eyes on Dean, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Dean felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight and he blinked, momentarily stunned. Words that he had never considered speaking to another person before meeting Sam threatened to tumble from his mouth, but were halted before they could be given a voice by Sam's smile as it turned mischievous.

The younger man reached his hands out, grabbing onto Dean's and tugging him to the edge of the dock, one eyebrow cocked. "So are we gonna do this or what?"

Dean grinned, pushing those words back for another day, and began sinking down so that they could ease themselves into the water slowly, but Sam had a different idea completely. Dean suddenly found himself being shoved over the edge of the dock with Sam's joyful laugh filling his ears seconds before the sound of rushing water took its place.

Dean pushed off the bottom to break the surface of the lake just as Sam jumped in, sending up a large cresting wave right into his face. He sputtered momentarily, wiping cool lake water from his eyes, waiting with a devious excitement for Sam to come up for air. When he did, Dean slapped the water, splashing Sam in the face with a small wave of his own, kicking away to avoid retaliation. Pushing off the sandy floor, Sam raced forward after his quarry, just missing Dean's foot and squinting against the onslaught of water. Sam decided to change tactics and lure his prey toward him instead.

When Dean looked back to Sam, seeing that he had floated a little farther away and was chuckling, he rolled over in the water and cautiously glided over, sure to stay out of reach. They circled each other warily before leaping forward, grappling and rolling skin on skin, each fighting for dominance. They continued back and forth, wrestling in the darkened lake, the sound of their grunts and chuckles and empty threats mixing fluidly with wet splashes in the wide and echoing clearing.

Their raucous play began to die down as they panted from the exertion, limbs tangled in an evident draw. Sam was trapped in a headlock just above the water, Dean gasping against a bear hug. They both let out a panting and breathless chuckle. Releasing Dean's back slowly, Sam reached up, suddenly and desperately needing a taste of his skin. He circled Dean's wrist gently and drew his hand to his mouth, pressing a soft but heated kiss to his wet palm.

Dean felt his heart stutter in his chest and he brought his thumb up to trace along the ridge of Sam's brow, water dripping from his hand like diamonds in the moonlight. Sam smiled, maneuvering to face him and wrap his arms around Dean's waist again, and drew him in close.

Battle forgotten, Dean looked up, feeling all the hard angles of Sam's body sliding right up against his own, slippery skin sensitive and eager. He slipped his hands up into Sam's dripping hair, tugging his head forward enough to slot their lips together. Their mouth's moved against each other with a slow and aching tenderness that quickly turned hungry and frenzied.

Dean brought a leg up, hooking around Sam's waist, using the buoyancy of the water to his advantage to press his growing erection up against Sam's warm belly. Sam moaned deep and low into Dean's open mouth, sliding his hands down Dean's back to cup his ass cheeks and pull him even closer. Dean rutted up against him, their hardened cocks dragging alongside each other before Sam growled deep in his throat and pulled his lips away, pressing them hard against Dean's forehead instead.

"God damn, Dean," Sam whispered fiercely. "I want to just hold you and talk to you but I -I just can't."

Dean's chuckle caught him off guard and his brows knit in questioning look, his features soft once again. Dean pressed a soft kiss to Sam's mouth before dropping himself back to the water.

"Take your time, baby boy. We have all weekend, if you'll stay."

The smile the brightened Sam's face rivaled the sun and he nodded his head and emphatic yes. Relief washed over Dean, who let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Alright then," he said. "Let's swim in these stars."

With another smile and nod, Sam kicked his way slowly to the center of the lake, small ripples following him that Dean cut through as he trailed a little way behind. Like a pair of swans, they sliced through the water in quiet contemplation, each reviewing the conversations of the week against the one on the dock.

Upon reaching the middle, Sam stopped to tread water and then stretched his legs down to experimentally see if his feet would still touch the bottom of the lake. His head was still well above the water when he sunk into the soft mud below him, toes curling into the saturated earth. He turned up to the sky, his face a full moon against the star filled water. Dean beside him did the same before dipping his head full back and letting his legs float to the surface, the water holding him up in her cool arms.

"Seriously?" Sam asked, laughter in his voice. Once again, Sam found himself at eye level with Dean's pelvis and laughed at the man's nonchalance for his own body.

"What?" Dean asked, smirk in place. "Can't handle a man at leisure? Come on Sammy, live a little." Dean tugged at Sam's arm to encourage him to relax and follow his lead.

"It's just an excuse to get your dick in my face."

Split between a smile and a grimace, Sam let out a breath and let his feet rise to the surface only to have his shoulders sink below the water. He flipped in the water but tried again, holding his breath and swaying his arms to keep his head up. His feet wouldn't rise. He kicked gently hoping the movement would give him lift but he sank again, his mouth filling with water as he let out his breath.

Dean watched from his cradled position as Sam struggled to find the balance for floating. He snickered and righted himself again. Sam was brilliant but so uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Dude, don't try so hard," Dean instructed letting the humor die away as with the phone sex, his voice now an anchor. "Relax, Sam. Close your eyes, think of me being gentle and let it all go."

Sam felt Dean's palms caress his back and the back of his thigh, his hands helping Sam find his equilibrium. He focused on the texture of each finger on his skin and how they had moved earlier in the night massaging the tension out of his body. He took a slow but deep breath letting his muscles relax into that touch and then closed his eyes, the image of them spooned together emerging into his mind's eye. It wasn't until Dean's hand found and closed around his that Sam realize that he was floating, the surface hugging him as surely as it had Dean. The feeling was exhilarating and calming and safe as they wandered the center of lake like a pair of pale leaves drifting in the breeze.

Dean glanced over at Sam's face, slack and relaxed. _Beautiful_, he thought again, and smiled at the contradiction floating beside him; handsome but unaware, sexual but shy, smart but maybe naive. He was struck with the wonder of how all those opposites were so inherently congruent, how all those pieces somehow fit together so perfectly to form _Sam_. It was almost as striking a set of improbabilities as their own chance meeting last week, and not to mention their radically contrasting backgrounds.

Dean pulled his eyes away from Sam, focusing his gaze up at the full moon directly above them and letting out a soft sigh. His mind always seemed to loop back to that glaring difference between them, that hidden past that Dean was still trying so hard to keep locked away. But instead of dwelling on it, Dean pushed the thoughts away again, resolutely trying his best to savor this moment, to memorize every detail. Because he knew, with an aching certainty, that once that truth came to light Sam would be as good as gone. The only thing Dean was really unsure of was was how long he really thought he could hold off that inevitability or if he even had control over any of it. _Just make the most of it,_ he thought to himself, _Make the most of it while you can. _


	10. Chapter 10

Sam stared up at the star-filled night sky, still floating in the cool lake behind Dean's house, his hand absently bumping Dean's every so often as they swayed near each other in the water. He blinked his eyes tiredly, feeling the lulling pull of sleep tug at him from the soft rocking of the water and the near deafening silence filling the clearing. It had been a long and trying week with work and then the embarrassing and unnecessary stress he had put himself through earlier at the baseball game and all he seemed to want to do was sleep, especially now since Dean had woken him up in the middle of the night not more than an hour ago. Not that Sam was complaining - he was more at peace in that moment, floating silently in that dark lake of stars, than he'd felt in a long, long time - he was just having an increasingly harder time keeping his eyes open.

The sound of Dean's deep chuckle suddenly broke through the quiet and Sam felt his body being rocked a little harder as Dean began swiming in close. "Don't tell me you're falling asleep over there, Sammy boy," Dean said, his voice drifting to Sam like tendrils of fog seeping through a chilled valley on an early summer morning.

Sam smiled. "Just resting my eyes, is all," he replied, waiting with his eyes closed for Dean to come in nice and close.

Dean chuckled again, the sound right up by Sam's head. "Well let's get you inside, before your skin gets all wrinkly and -"

His words were cut off by Sam turning fast as liquid lightning and dunking him under the water. Sam laughed into the darkness, anticipating Dean coming up sputtering like a mad wet cat after getting caught off guard for the second time, but quickly fell silent when Dean didn't immediately resurface. The ripples around him went still and Sam's heart plummeted, suddenly and terrifyingly certain that Dean was hurt somehow. His eyes frantically searched the surface of the midnight black water, but he could barely see his own hands paddling underneath for how dark the lake was around him.

Dread suffused through him in a numbing rush just seconds before two strong arms wrapped around his middle and dragged him down below the water, with barely enough time for him to yell out his surprise. And then he was beneath the surface, cool lakewater enveloping him in a soundless and serene quiet that was total and complete. A soft, warm mouth was suddenly on his, and even though Sam had his eyes closed, he knew it was Dean's just from the supple shape of it. And really who else would it be out here?

He wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, kissing back fiercely, sharing his oxygen back and forth between them until his lungs were burning and he was dizzy with a desperate need for kicked to the surface together, breaking through the stars covering the lake and gasping for breath but latching back onto each other before they had even pulled in more than two deep pants. Sam was utterly amazed at how quickly Dean continued to flip that switch inside of him, driving him crazy with need even when he was tired or distracted or lost a million miles away in his own thoughts, sending him into a wild frenzy of animalistic want within the span of three goddamn seconds. He never thought his body was capable of such raw hunger; never before Dean.

Dean enveloped Sam, the taller man keeping them above the surface even as he suckled on Dean's bottom lip. They bobbed together in the dark, Sam's feet just brushing the bottom, his hands roaming over Dean's back and shoulders. The muscles bunched and flexed under his touch as Dean reached between them to caress both arousals then crossed over Sam's ribs and up his back to pull Sam's head back exposing his throat.

"We need to get to shore," Dean panted between waterlogged kisses pressed against Sam's adam's apple. He grunted when Sam's hands grasped his ass, a muscled globe in each wide palm, then barked a laugh from deep in his throat. Once Sammy got rolling, he was singularly driven, his fingers inching their way deeper between Dean's cheeks.

"You want more, kiddo?" Dean's voice carried as much mirth as desire and Sam gritted his teeth against his own smile.

"Always," was Sam's only answer. Drawing in a ragged breath, he pushed off the bottom again to both stay above the surface and to brush flesh against flesh. He groaned as Dean's cock dragged along his own, sending overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing through his whole body.

As they neared the shore, Dean dropped to his side to swim on his own, gliding through the water but moving into Sam's space enough to throw off his strokes and make him laugh. Once the water reached their knees, Sam was on him again, the heat he had ignored the last hour bubbling to the surface in burning jolts. He loved the feel of Dean's body under his, craved it like a scorched desert craves a rainstorm. The sound of his laughter and the desire that flooded his body every time he felt Dean's skin against his own drove Sam damn near senseless with desire.

He had him on all fours in the shallow water near the shore, his own body draped across Dean's back so he could curl his arm underneath to stroke his dick and rub his own into the part of Dean's cheeks. As relaxed as he had been just moments before, his blood was boiling now and demanding release.

Dean's breathless chuckles rang out in the moonlit clearing and quickly melted into needy pants when Sam's cock nudged against his hole, still partially stretched from the plug he had worn earlier. "Whoa there, cowboy," he rasped. "You hiding a rubber somewhere on that amazing naked ass body of yours?"

Sam immediately stilled, a fraction of a second away from pushing into Dean's tight heat, jaw clenched against the burning desire. As Dean rolled over and slightly away, Sam ran his palm along the line of Dean's spine, a growl and a whispered apology on his lips.

"How about this, sport," Dean began, standing up in the shallow water and taking a few steps backwards, "Race ya back to house. Winner tops." Dean wiggled his eyebrows before kicking a wave onto Sam's kneeling form and bolting for the path, only his laughter left behind.

"That's cheating!" Sam called after him, scrambling to his feet to give chase, laughter bubbling from his chest as well. He watched Dean's pale form moving in the short distance, closing the gap even as they made it into his yard. Dean took the porch steps two at a time, ignoring the towels he'd laid out, and burst through the door to the mud room just as Sam hit the first step.

Dean was ready for him when Sam pounced, embracing the taller man as he was knocked off his feet, pulling Sam to the living room carpet with him. They howled in the self-indulgent hilarity of tickling and nibbling as Sam forced himself between Dean's thighs, nips turning into raspberries, revenge for his own joyous torture last weekend.

"You cheated, Dean," Sam accused, playfulness in his voice. He pulled Dean's hands over his head to be held by one of Sam's and shook his head letting the droplets of water splash over Dean's face. Dean sputtered an exaggerated complaint but then spoke to defend himself.

"I_ did_," Dean admitted, his eyes wide with mock disbelief at his own audacity. "I cheated fair and square, Sammy. Now let me up, I want my prize." Dean bucked his hips hard to bounce Sam, two semi hard cocks rubbing together instead.

"Cheaters never prosper, Dean," Sam warned, his smile turning deliciously wicked as he pulled Dean's leg up over his hip to land a heavy smack to the back of his thigh. "I think punishment is in order."

Dean grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light of the living room, and nodded. "Oh I've been a very bad boy," he said, wriggling his wrists free of Sam's grasp, his eyes bright with mischief, "But, ya know what? Why don't we play again and this time I'll make it fair. You can save that punishment for later, when I really earn it."

Sam cocked his head to the side like a frustrated and confused puppy and Dean couldn't help but chuckle. "If we don't start fucking right now I'm gonna fuckin' explode," he said by way of an explanation.

Dean held up his hands like he had done back in the restaurant parking lot, right fist in his left palm in the universal sign of rock, paper, scissors, and understanding finally broke across Sam's face.

"No cheating this time," Sam said, sitting back on his haunches and holding his hands up.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright," he huffed in mock annoyance. "Let's do this."

Three pounds of their fists and one display of scissors on Dean's part and the top was finally decided. Sam looked down at Dean with a triumphant grin and Dean stared up at him, his plush bottom lip sticking out in a near petulant pout, looking to be about two seconds away from pitching a fit.

"Oh c'mon," Sam said, "I won fair and square! Quit being a sore loser."

Dean's pout curled into a smirk and he tugged Sam down on top of him, nudging his hips up to brush their cocks together. He brought his mouth in close, his hot breath against Sam's ear sending unending shivers down his spine. "I'm not being a sore loser, Sammy, but I do want you to make me sore. Think you can handle that?"

Sam nodded fervently, his heart picking up pace again, feeling Dean's wicked smile curve against his cheek seconds before he found himself being rolled roughly onto his back. He let out a surprised grunt as he thumped down the rug, a whispered 'good' rushing against his ear.

"Oh, I'm gonna put out," Dean teased, "but I like the view from the top." His face melded its way through an array of expressions as his eyes ran over Sam below him - lust, joy, mischief and something else - before leaning back to run his palms over Sam's expanse of chest and torso. He swatted Sam's wandering hands as the crept up his thighs. Bottom or not, Dean was now running the show.

He swiveled his hips in a slow circle, his balls pressed hard against Sam's shaft. Breathy pants escaped both men followed by a sigh from Dean as he leaned forward, lips inches from Sam's, his tongue tracing a line down his nose. Sam's hot breath washed against Dean's face as he leaned his head up for a kiss, eyes closed and hands flexing with need to touch Dean. But Dean's mouth never met his and his eyes popped open as a grumbled set of curses filled the quiet room.

"What?" Sam asked, eyes darting over Dean's face and the space they shared on the floor. Dean's complaining was almost as funny as it was sudden when he lifted himself up and off of Sam.

"You move and I'll kill you," Dean declared as he trudged to the bedroom, huffs and stomping footfalls echoing for a moment before pausing. "I mean it!" and an accusing finger pointed at Sam followed a moment later.

Sam laughed at Dean's grumpy display before forcing a sincere nod of agreement and laying his head back to the floor to wait. _Supplies suck_, Sam thought to himself and he made a mental note to start stashing things like condoms and lubricant and towels around his living space. How long, he wondered, before they should approach the idea of barebacking? He felt a jolt of pleasure at the thought and bounced his own head against the floor. No need to let that thought get carried away. The temptation was great enough without actually acknowledging it.

"That's a good boy scout," Dean crooned as he lowered himself back to the floor, silent feet letting him sneak up on Sam and his naughty thoughts.

Without another word, Dean gave Sam's heavy dick several slow, hard tugs before opening a wrapper and rolling the condom down. He straddled Sam again, taking his time squeezing the cool liquid from the small bottle of lube onto his palms before gripping Sam, intent on teasing even as need crawled over him again. Through the thin latex, Dean's hands were like magic as they moved slowly up and down, his thumb grazing the fat head, making Sam bite back a low whimper.

And just when he was ready to protest the agonizing wait, Dean finally lifted up and sat down on Sam's pulsing, slicked up cock. They both groaned deeply as he settled himself to the hilt, his body protesting for both less and more. When Sam's palms caressed Dean's thighs without a reprimand, pushed by a need to feel his muscles working, strong and firm under his fingertips, Dean finally began to move. He leaned forward and then back, rolling his hips again, searching for the right angle and moaned so sweetly when he finally found it.

Dean may have loved the view 'from the top' but Sam knew that he was the one in the VIP section. Pulling his knees up as a support, he watched pleasure dance across Dean's face - his brows creasing and then lifting, his lips forming a delicate pout before pulling back to bare his teeth. All the while, Dean's head lulled back and forth, eyes closed, his shoulders bunching and flexing as he maintained his balance.

When the emerald of Dean's eyes finally opened, the misty color dark with lust, Sam saw a ferocity that belied Dean's slow pace. He reached up both hands to drag Dean down for another kiss, longing and heat passing from one mouth to the other as easily as wine being poured into a glass.

Pressed against Sam's chest, Dean switched to quick, shallow movements, humping against Sam to rub his own dripping cock against Sam's lower belly as the head of Sam's dick was forced to endure the sudden in-and-out kiss of Dean's rim. The intense burst of pleasure curled Sam's toes and he squeezed Dean in a bearhug, his hips moving in time to Dean's assault.

"Fuck, De…" Sam couldn't even finish his thought as Dean forced his arms away and leaned back upright to swivel and roll through his deliciously slow pace, burning heat enveloping him once again.

Dean was enjoying every ounce that Sam was giving him. He was strong and beautiful and so damn pliable beneath him, so willing to let Dean just take what he wanted. Dean groaned low in his throat and let his hands slide down from Sam's knees to the back of his thighs before making the trek across his own skin to Sam's stomach, relishing in the awestruck and wrung out look stamped across Sam's face.

"God damn, baby boy," Dean ground out, teeth clenching in time to his ass. "You fill me up so perfect."

He dipped the tip of his finger into Sam's navel before sliding up to his nipples, then neck, then jaw. He rolled his body, brushing his prostate against the head of Sam's cock and letting the sensation build hot pools of molten ecstasy low in his belly before falling forward again, the contact broken and his blood cooling. That was twice that he'd brought himself to the brink only to pull back.

How many more near misses could he force upon himself before Sam finally had enough and took him hard? How many times would Sam endure Dean's quick and shallow fucking of himself before Sam lost control and held him in place, demanding release?

He felt Sam's massive paws crawl down his back and rest on his hip, not attempting to guide Dean's movements, but only to appreciate the swift motion. He gave Sam's hair a hard pull, licked a wet line across his throat and then sat back up, his tease paused for the moment. It wouldn't be long now, he was sure. That something feral was inching its way into Sam's eyes and edging out the sweet wonder and Dean could literally _feel_ the pull of that reckless abandon that was only seconds from bursting forward.

He rolled over his own sweet spot again, this time feeling a shudder run up his spine, and another moan bounced loudly off the walls. Dean was so close now, his cock dripping and swollen and an angry red, but he wanted one more go before he gave in and tumbled into the abyss.

He leaned forward again, supple lips finding Sam's instantly, their kiss moving quickly from plush suckling to teeth and bites and grunting. Sam's hand, soft and caressing moments before turned hard on Dean's skin, his fingertips digging into his back and ass to halt his teasing.

"Fuck," Sam finally cried out, his overworked cockhead finally demanding release. Dean found himself pushed back and off, sliding with an ungraceful thump onto the carpet. And then Sam was on him again, crowding his space, forcing him to lay back and then flipping him roughly and without preamble onto his hands and knees, angry lust making him harsh and demanding. Dean's knowing laughter just antagonized that wild thing to finally surface in Sam. Dean loved that wild thing, it seemed, and he fought back a little just to hear it growl at him.

"Can't take a little fucking, Sammy boy?" he mocked, pushing his hips up and off the carpet, arching his back and thrusting his ass up toward Sam, inviting him to take even as he lifted his chest from the floor, wrenching his arms from Sam's grip.

"God dammit, Dean," Sam snarled, his fingers flying down to Dean's hips to hold on with a grip that was deep and bruising. "I_ know_ you want it hard. You play coy, but I know you push me just to make me fucking take you."

Dean cried out, pleasure and pain mingling for the first few strokes as Sam buried himself balls deep and then moved, his pace as frantic and rough as Dean's teasing. Dean felt dirty and used and absolutely, divinely delicious as Sam fucked him again, harder than he had against the Impala, filthy words cascading down to his ears like an obscene symphony.

"Like a fucking whore, you are, Dean. Fucking Christ. I want to hear you sing for me. I want that pretty little mouth of yours to scream my name, you hear me? You take all of me so good, so fucking deep." Dean reached his hand beneath himself, stroking his own cock now in time to Sam's thrusts, crying out again as Sam commanded him to come. "Fucking come now, Dean! NOW!"

And Dean did, shattering apart like a stained glass window exploding under the pressure of gale force winds, his cock, still gripped in his tight fist, jerking wildly and spraying the carpet with seemingly endless ropes of come. His whole body contracted, all of his muscles clenching simultaneously with the powerful force of his orgasm, and he screamed Sam's name with a ferocity that ripped his throat raw.

Sam relished in the tight, constricting squeeze of Dean's asshole around him, gritting his teeth and pistoning his hips forward in a series of quick, brutal thrusts that pushed him past the breaking point. He surged in deep, slamming into Dean roughly as that last ounce of his control snapped, gripping Dean's hips hard enough to bruise.

Curling forward, Sam wrapped one arm under Dean's chin to choke him close, feeling the spasm of Dean's adam's apple bob against the inside of his elbow. He buried himself in the tight and quaking channel milking around the entire length of his straining cock as the rush of completion pummelled through him, taking all he had to give and more. He roared out a loud growl as he came, feeling it shake through every last square inch of his body, sucking the remaining remnants of his energy straight out of his dick.

The two men slumped down onto the carpet, utterly and exceptionally exhausted. Sam barely had enough presence of mind to slip his softening cock from Dean's gaping, puffy hole and pull the used condom off before laying out beside Dean right there on the floor in front of the couch. He wrapped an arm around Dean, drawing him close up against his side, fighting for breath.

Dean curled on top of Sam's chest, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Sam's sweat-slicked neck and breathing in deep, knowing he'd never, ever get tired of the unique and strong scent of him, not even if he tried. He reached up onto the couch, grasping a throw blanket and pulling it down to cover them both, drifting off to a hard won sleep with Sam's lips pressed against his temple and their fingers entwined together right over Sam's thudding and happy heart.


	11. Chapter 11

When he blinked awake on the living room floor, Dean pressed and drooling against his back, Sam breathed a satisfied sigh of contentment and wondered how long they had slept. It was a rare morning that he did not greet the sun in jogging shorts and sneakers, but he did have quite a workout the night before; he'd earned a lazy morning. But sore muscles and a full bladder demanded attention eventually and after several tries at prying Dean's possessive fingers from some part of him or another, he made for his bag for fresh boxers and then the bathroom for relief and a wash.

Dean was still nestled against the couch when Sam crossed the living room again. He was curled up and hugging the throw like a teddy bear, innocent and sweet in his sleep. Dean was beautiful in his suspended animation. Now carrying the memory of that childish pose, the well worn thought brought to Sam both a bubble of warmth and a grimace of disappointment. The adult in him insisted on letting the imp sleep in while he tidied up their shared space, temporary as it was. The eager teenager in him was stomping his feet to wake Dean up by savoring the delectable offerings he had south of his bellybutton. 'Insatiable' came to mind again as Sam watched Dean's rhythmic breathing for another moment, the word now as worn as 'beautiful.'

_Nice trick_, Sam thought of Dean's tempting form and moved on to the dinner table to clear last night's dishes. He tried for quiet but the clanking of plates, glasses and empty bottles echoed in the large room. Sam winced and looked back over at Dean, but was stunned to see him barely register the noise.

Sam was tiptoeing through the kitchen now in search of a whisk, having loaded the dishwasher, praying that later it would clean everything without the need of a stop under running water. Dean definitely played as hard as he worked, and after what they shared yesterday, Sam knew he needed all the rest he could get. Opting to let him dream a bit longer, Sam was happy to whip together breakfast for his slumbering lover.

As he made the rounds of the drawers again, still searching for that damn whisk, he smiled as the rolling aroma of hazelnut coffee finally reached him from the machine. While setting up the coffee, Sam had let out a silent huff of a laugh, hoping the gurgling protest of the brew would wake Dean, and his obvious sweet tooth. When, like the dishes, the noisey contraption had not even elicited a snort from the unconscious man, Sam had walked away to let the machine work while he searched for the whisk.

French toast was a favorite of his and he had rounded up just about everything to get started. Eggs, milk, bread and butter were already on the counter so all he needed was cinnamon and the whis-

Sam jumped as he turned to make his way back to the dishwasher and then clenched his jaw in surprise. Standing beside the percolating coffee machine was a semiconscious Dean, wrapped only in the throw and patiently hugging a black coffee mug. Dean drug his half closed eyes up slowly from his treasured coffee maker, a sleepy sideways grin curving his lips.

"Morning, sunshine," he croaked. Sam grinned at once and reached for the coffee pot that had just received its last drip from the filter, filling the mug that Dean held out for him eagerly. He curled forward, careful not to bump the steaming cup in Dean's hands, and slotted a quick kiss to Dean's dry lips.

"Morning," Sam replied, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of a still half-asleep Dean; rough stubble lining his jaw, skin pink and still sleep soft, green eyes heavy lidded, hair a disheveled mess. He had never looked sexier.

Sam cleared his throat and backed away slightly, knowing full well that if he didn't concentrate on making breakfast, he'd be pulling Dean down to the kitchen floor where both of them would be receiving bruised knees from the hardwood. He willed away the all-too-tempting thought and turned back to the counter, glancing at Dean over his shoulder, about ready to ask where he might have been hiding the goddam whisk, when his words evaporated.

Dean had propped himself against the pantry door and was watching Sam over the rim of his mug, his eyes becoming clearer and more focused with each sip of coffee. The throw blanket wrapped about his shoulders inched apart at his waist when he brought the mug up to his mouth for another swallow, revealing a thin strip of his belly and dick, and Sam couldn't help but blush. He turned back to the breakfast ingredients, trying like hell to busy himself, and heard Dean chuckle behind him.

"Somethin' funny?" Sam asked, not daring to turn around. He stared at the items before him, cheeks burning and trying desperately to remember the French toast recipe he had made at least a hundred times in his life; Dean was being very distracting.

"You," Dean answered simply, far closer than he had been two seconds ago when Sam had seen him against the pantry door.

A shiver ran down Sam's spine at the rough timbre of Dean's voice, scratched raw by the desperate shouts and cries Sam had drawn from him last night, and he consciously bit back the moan rising in this throat. There was suddenly something shiny and metal in his peripheral vision and he glanced over to see a wire whisk being held over his shoulder.

"Finish making me breakfast while I go take a shower, then we can do something about _this_," Dean rasped, caressing a hand over the sudden and aching erection tenting Sam's boxers, "after we eat. Sound like a deal?"

Sam swallowed thickly and grasped the whisk as Dean sauntered away, throw blanket flapping out behind him like a cape as he walked to the bathroom, still holding his cup of coffee.

/

Sam glanced nervously to the dashboard clock in his car, currently showing 11:47 pm in iridescent green, then looked back out the driver's side window, watching with more than a little trepidation as Dean and his softball pitcher, Krissy, ran across the darkened front lawn of the teenager's ex boyfriend, thick white rolls of Charmin held in each hand.

Long strips of the toilet paper trailed out behind them like crepe paper streamers as they crisscrossed the yard and was already hanging from the trees and bushes and even the overhang on the porch, giving the house the look of a hurried birthday party decorating disaster.

Sam groaned inwardly, trying not to let the lawyer in him count all the misdemeanors being racked up - trespassing, defacement of property, littering- and wondered for the millionth time how in the _hell_ Dean had convinced him to be the getaway driver for this crime spree. And then Dean sprinted beside the car, flashing Sam a wide and exhilarated grin before launching the roll in his hand far up the tree in front of him in a perfect arc and Sam remembered; how could he have said no when Dean had coaxed him so sweetly with that goddamn beautiful smile earlier that morning?

They had been sitting at the table, Dean fresh and clean from his shower, Sam shifting uncomfortably in his seat from the boner still straining against his underwear, eating the French toast Sam had made without once imaging how Dean looked all soaped up under the steamy spray of water in that shower- okay maybe that's _all_ he was thinking of - but he had still managed to make some damn good breakfast even though his mind was otherwise preoccupied. Dean had brought up the topic of TPing Krissy's ex's house out of nowhere, completely catching Sam off guard with that disarming smile of his.

"C'mon, Sammy, it'll be fun. And if you're a good getaway driver, I'll even take you out to the bar, drinks on me," he had said, shooting Sam a wink, and Sam had known then and there that he was done for, in so many more ways than one.

Dean must have some kind of magic superpower that disabled all of Sam's logic functions. He laughed to himself at the thought, Krissy's giggle carrying over to him as she launched another roll over the tree. In the past week, Dean had shown Sam a side of himself that he wasn't even aware he was hiding. And, truth be told, despite his personal insecurities and reservations, Sam was enjoying every second. Okay, not every second; this one in particular was more stressful than fun, but he'd felt more free in the last seven days than he'd felt his entire life. And he owed it to Dean and his horrible influence.

Sam's inner musings were interrupted by Dean's high pitched whistle. Sam looked out his window again to see him and Krissy running his way, the porch light having finally kicked on. Already running in idle, Sam put the car in gear as Krissy crawled in through the open rear window and Dean did his best Bo Duke across the hood.

"Let's roll, Sammy!" Dean crowed as he slammed the passenger door shut, Sam already pulling away from the curb. His poor car. Rarely used in favor of public transit, Sam's 2010 Volvo S40 had seen better days but this was his first luxury car, bought with hard earned junior DA pay. Now it was the getaway car for his… whatever Dean was and a teenaged hoodlum. He life had taken an odd turn.

Sam shifted through the first few gears efficiently and smoothly, sailing past sleepy two story houses well above the speed limit and pushing the car's horses harder than he had since he first bought the thing. Dean cranked the radio up to full blast, the Guns 'n Roses CD he'd popped in for Krissy blaring out of the speakers. It picked up "Welcome to the Jungle," right where Sam had turned it off. He hooked a right, a left and then another right to merge onto the highway, Dean and Krissy wailing with along with Axl Rose about his serpentine. Sam didn't realize he was wailing along as well until Dean pulled him in for a kiss, no matter that they were flying down the expressway at ninety with a teenager in the backseat.

"You're a natural, baby boy," Dean yelled over the music, "best driver I ever had." He turned and gave Krissy a high five as the last few dirty bars pumped from the CD and they all gave an exaggerated "huh" along with Axl. Well past the danger zone now, Dean directed Sam to slow down and guided them back to Krissy's empty house.

After her mother passed away, he father took on extra work to distract from his grief. She was lucky that it wasn't the bottle or worse but it still left Krissy alone six out of seven nights a week. Not ideal for a growing girl hence the bad attitude and pension for trouble. Sam's brows betrayed his worry as he pulled up to the dark house.

"You going to be okay by yourself?" he asked, turning in his seat. The girl nodded, her dark ponytail bobbing behind her head with the movement, a look of disdain creasing her brows in mockery of Sam's.

"Yeah, chief," she sassed. "I've been taking care of myself since I was like eight. I think I can handle a late night with frozen pizza and a monster movie. Don't let this one corrupt you too bad." She punched Dean lightly on the shoulder before hopping out.

"Finish your homework," Dean yelled after her, sincerity in his voice.

"God, I know!" she yelled back, halfway up the walk now. "Chemistry is stupid but whatever. I'll do it." Sam watched this exchange with a mix of amazement and jealousy. Dean had her wrapped around his finger and was pushing her to be better. It was a talent he wished he shared and would have to emulate right away.

"What?" Dean asked. With Krissy safely inside, Dean turned his attention back to Sam who was staring at him with a goofy smile. He knew that look. It was the same one some of the moms gave him after watching him coaching their kids - a wistful determination to domesticate a wild animal who happened to love people food. Dean rolled his eyes and smacked Sam's knee then gestured for him to start driving.

"No chick flick moments, buddy," he laughed to Sam. "I already put out so no need to tell me how good I am with kids. Compliments will get you no extra head." Sam's belly laugh was musical and Dean felt a self satisfied grin take over his features.

"Wow, okay then," Sam took them back to the highway and headed for the lights of downtown. "So what bar are we headed to again?"

Dean stuck his arm out the window and let his hand ride the waves of wind as the car sped past streetlights and exits. He was debating again about the bar. They hit his favorite sports bar last week and both enjoyed the spoils of drunken debauchery. They had spend the entirety of last night sober and had been just as deep in passion as the weekend before. Would a gay bar prove a road block for the conservative sex fiend driving him across town?

"Let's hit the F Bar," he finally said. "We missed the eleven o'clock show but we can catch the one o'clock oncore." He could feel Sam's eyes on him now, the subtle downturn in the speed of the car and a small gasp to his left.

"You're into drag?" Sam sounded shocked. He himself always found the divas to be the epitome of beauty and femininity but Dean just didn't seem the type to enjoy the flashy costumes and music. "Dude, you're like Shrek."

"What!?" Dean turned in his seat and laughed again. "I'm like Shrek? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Layers," Sam stated, taking the next exit and slowing down to a stop at the end of the exit. "Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. You are Shrek." His triumphant smile was like sunshine and Dean groaned loudly against his urge to grin.

"Then that makes you what? The miniature beast of burden?" Dean answered back, leaning over to rub his nose against Sam's, the light still red.

"Miniature my ass," Sam snickered before taking Dean's lips and swallowing his laugh as it burst forth. An impatient horn honk startled them both out of the kiss, Dean yelling obscenities to the driver behind them while tossing matching hand gestures out the window.

"See," Sam mumbled to himself while laying on the gas, "Shrek."

The rest of the drive over to the bar passed by in a blur and was spent with their lips locked at stop lights and teasing strokes and caresses up thighs and tented jeans at all the points in between. Both men were hard and panting with want when Sam finally pulled into the packed parking lot at the F Bar.

They stumbled from the car in a hurried rush, already drunk on each other before alcohol had even touched their lips for the night. Sam rounded the hood of his Volvo before Dean had barely closed his door, grabbing him up by his shirt front for a proper kiss that was long and deep, only breaking the contact of their lips when a wolf whistle sounded from a group of men walking past them.

Sam pulled back slightly with a low, breathless chuckle, smoothing Dean's shirt down across the hard plane of his chest after unclenching the material from his fists. Dean stared up at him, his eyes wide and stunned, the green depths holding a mixture of awe and something else that Sam didn't have time to process fully before Dean blinked rapidly and settled that mischievous glint in its place.

"Well damn, baby boy, if I'd a known breaking the law got you this hot, I would've pulled you to the dark side right of the fuckin bat!" He chuckled out a laugh that, to Sam's ears, held a little more truth than Dean might have meant to let out.

Sam paused for a moment, but the sight of Dean's ass bobbing in his jeans as he turned and sauntered toward the entrance to the bar effectively wiped Sam's brain of all coherent thought and he followed along behind Dean without a word of protest.

Walking into the bar out of the humid Houston night, Sam was as amazed by the scene before him as the handful of other times he had been there before. The darkened space, lit with sexy undertones of purple and pink light that melted into cool beams of blue and green, was alive,_ throbbing_, with a crush of men all around him. The overwhelming scents of sweat and cologne and testosterone hit his nostrils in a heady and powerful rush as electric pulses of dance music thudded from the speakers surrounding the dance floor. The crowd, even the people surrounding the long bar and overflowing into the lounge areas at the edges of the wide space, were moving to the rhythm.

The diversity of the bodies around Sam drew his gaze in a thousand different directions, but it was the sight of the large chandelier hanging above the dance floor that really pulled his attention, it always did; dripping with crystals and elegance, the cut prisms on the gigantic fixture reflected the ever-changing colors in a wide spectrum of light that danced across every surface.

Sam drug his eyes down from the chandelier to see Dean standing before him, bathed in a beautiful wash of blue and green light with a wide grin stretching his lips. He stepped in close to Sam, hooking his fingers in Sam's belt loops and tugging him forward. Sam canted his head down to be able to hear Dean's voice over the loud music.

"This your first time, baby boy?" Dean asked, settling that sinful mouth right up against Sam's ear.

A shiver wracked through Sam's body at the feel of Dean's hot breath ghosting across his skin and the inherent sexual nature of the question. He swallowed and shook his head.

"I'm the one that drove us here, remember?" Sam replied, pressing his own mouth against Dean's ear and even daring to draw Dean's velvet-soft earlobe in between his teeth.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected sensation and he jerked Sam's hips flush against his own involuntarily. The relentless arousal he'd been tamping down on the drive from Krissy's house wound even tighter in his gut.

"I'm sorry I wasn't the one to pop your cherry, then," Dean said, shouting to be heard, right as the music ended.

The words hung loudly in the lull between songs and at least a dozen men turned to smirk at them. Some even clapped out a round of applause.

Sam's eyes went wide as saucers and all of the color drained from his face except for two splotches of red high on his cheeks, visible even in the pulsing colored lighting. Dean's heart spasmed painfully for a moment and he instantly felt guilty for embarrassing Sam, even though he hadn't meant to. He wanted nothing more than to make it up to him.

He moved in close again, about to say as much, just as a velvet-curtained stage lit up across the room, signifying that the drag show was about to start. A raucous musical build-up began as the show's host, Nadine Hughes, stepped out in a gloriously puffy bouffant and a sparkly sequined dress that hugged all of her luscious curves. Sam's eyes latched on immediately, just like every other person in the audience and Dean took that as his cue to make his way to the bar to buy Sam a drink as his apology and also as a reward for being an amazing getaway driver earlier- he hadn't forgotten about that.

He patted Sam on the shoulder, motioning toward the bar and miming a drink. Sam nodded with a smile and quickly looked back to the stage, positively entranced by the show unfolding beneath the bright spotlights.

Dean chuckled out a laugh that was instantly drowned out by the music booming around the room and squeezed his way through the crowd to the bar. He stood waiting his turn and glanced to his right, seeing a guy that looked vaguely familiar staring at him at the other end of the bar. The man looked away as soon as they made eye contact and Dean shrugged it off, glancing back to the bar to try and get the server's attention. He put in an order for two pints of Bohemian Pils fresh off the tap and let his eyes wander around the room again while the order was being filled. His gaze caught the man at the other end of the bar again and this time the man started moving through the crowd, making his way closer. Dean rolled his eyes and put together a polite 'thank you no thank you" in his head. Getting hit on so soon after arriving was flattering, but he was here with someone.

And suddenly Dean recognized him: Vincent Walsh, a correctional officer from Dean's time behind bars. A heavy chill settled through Dean's middle and his stomach twisted up reflexively. Vincent had gained a few pounds since Dean had last seen him, bent over and spitting blood onto the floor from Dean's heavy punches. Dean had been jumped twice in prison and come out on top both times, figuratively of course, with this piece of filth having made his run at him on Dean's last day in holding. The man was an inch or so shorter than Dean with greasy black hair slicked back mob style. His flashy Ed Hardy shirt was a size too small and he reeked of desperation.

"Thought I'd never see that pretty mouth of yours again, Smith," Vincent's hot breath washed over Dean's neck as he stepped too close.

"Well I'm a mirage that you are not seeing now." Dean turned to him, digging his fingers into the other man's soft chest to push him back a step. "You're a long way from home, Walsh."

Ignoring the implied question, Vincent plowed on, "Heard you like poppin' cherries. Anyone popped yours yet?" He tried to take another step into Dean's space but was bustled back by a frenzied pair of lovers next to them leaning too hard onto their side of the bar. His lear practically had fingers as it trailed so obviously from Dean's mouth, down to his groin and then back up again. The knot in Dean's stomach clenched tighter and he tasted bile at the back of his throat.

"Guess you'll never know," Dean replied through clenched teeth, clenched fists shaking at his side.

The sound of heavy glasses thumping on the bar behind them drew Vincent's eyes away and to the bartender. He pointed one perfectly polished finger at Vincent and rested his other hand on his jutted hip, his muscled arms and bare chest painted with glitter colored roses that matched his bright pink eyeshadow.

"Are you ordering or just harassing my customers?" The deep baritone drawl of the bartender boomed over the music and the crowd, drawing all eyes to Vincent immediately. The shorter man tossed up his hands to placate the bartender before leaning in once more to whisper to Dean.

"I'll see you soon, Smith."

"Not likely," Dean answered back as Vincent took a few steps backwards before turning into the throng behind him. When he was finally out of eyesight, Dean turned back to the bartender and dropped a fifty.

"Thanks," he called over the music. "Keep the change."

"My pleasure, sugar," the man replied taking the bill off the bar. "You need help with that cherry, you let me know." He winked at a laughing Dean and tucked the bill into his bright pink short shorts as he moved on to the next customer.

Dean took his time milling through the crowd on his way back to Sam. On edge now, his eyes roamed the bodies and faces of each partier, taking a zigzag path, his mind determined to find any other landmines buried on the dancefloor. Satisfied that Vincent and his guest were the only stowaways from his past, Dean made his approach to Sam, keeping his former guard in his line of sight.

Dean stopped to watch Sam who was bouncing to the music and mouthing the words to "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia," the tall man sticking out in the mob like a shining star in the darkest night sky. Dean's mouth was dry and the beer wasn't helping to calm his anxiety. Sam was brilliant, funny and beautiful. He'd said that Dean had layers but it was Sam that ran deep; his childlike naivete melted into righteous anger or animalistic desire at will and his concern for others was evident in his daily choices. Dean felt his chin warble and his jaw ache at the thought of parting from his newest treasure but Sam really didn't need someone like Dean to bring him down_. Stars belong high in the sky_, Dean reminded himself, _not in the slums with trash like me_.

And, as if Dean had called to him, Sam suddenly turned to him, his eyes bright with excitement and frivolity. He reached out for him as if Dean were a lifesaver in a rolling ocean, swaying forward and then back pulling Dean against him, almost spilling the beers in the process. Sam's lips were wet and hot and eager as they met Dean's and he laughed when he pulled back. Dean didn't need to force a smile, Sam's was contagious.

"Did somebody slip you a mickey?" Dean teased, handing Sam his drink before gulping his back.

"No, man," Sam chugged his and tossed the cup into the nearest trash can, whispering 'swish' as it rolled against the side and then tumbled in. "I just forgot how much fun a drag show can be. Why don't I come down here more often?" He finished the rest of Dean's cup, tossed it into the can as well and then turned both of them to the stage, cheering with the rest, for the next performer.

Sam wrapped himself around Dean and rested his chin on his shoulder, his gaze again fixed on the bright lights of the show. This was new for Dean, being the inside spoon while out and about, and a warm rush of security flooded his system, finally easing his nerves. This was something he hadn't crossed his mind about when thinking about Sam Wesson. Sam was safe and secure, he was hope and a future. Maybe Dean wouldn't bring Sam down, maybe Sam would lift Dean up.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Just to let you guys know, the F Bar is an actual, honest to god place that's just amazing as it sounds! We're seriously considering taking a writer's field trip down to Houston just to check it out! If you've been there, let us know if we did the bar justice in our description of it! :D


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was still being held in the warm protection of Sam's arms two songs later, swaying to the music and belting out the last few bars of "Somebody to Love" when his bladder finally decided to tell him it was full.

He turned around to face Sam, settling a heated but quick kiss to his lips. "Nature calls, baby boy," he said, brushing aside a lock of chestnut hair to get to Sam's ear. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded, giving Dean's hips a little squeeze before letting go. "I'm gonna get us another round," he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the crowded bar.

Dean grinned and took another taste of the beer still lingering on Sam's lips then turned to make his way back to the restrooms. "Sweet Caroline" started with a bang as Dean pushed the door open and he began singing the song under his breath with a smile quirking his mouth, so completely oblivious in that moment from his warm thoughts of Sam that he didn't notice as Vincent stepped in quietly behind him.

Dean made a beeline through the moderately crowded space for the trough-style urinal against the far wall and unzipped, quickly taking care of business so he could get back to Sam and the amazing and unexpected security of those strong arms as fast as possible. He had barely finished tucking his dick back into his jeans and doing up his fly when the fine hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up.

He turned stiffly, unease flooding through him in a sickening push, and just barely caught a glimpse of Vincent's predatory grin before he was being crowded forcibly into the nearest empty stall by the shorter man. Vincent caged Dean inside, his dark eyes, glassy with obvious inebriation, raking over Dean's body like a slithering caress from a poisonous snake. The heavy and bitter scent of cheap scotch filled the cloistered space and Dean had to swallow back the urge to vomit. He growled and tried to push his way out of the stall, but Vincent, who even with his smaller frame had a good thirty pounds over Dean, pressed forward, pinning him against the steel dividing wall behind him.

"I saw you out there with that twink-looking fuck toy, Smith," Vincent slurred, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Dean's neck, washing his skin in a moist rush of sour air. "With that pansy ass hair and pretty boy face? What a fuckin' joke. You want a real man, Smith. I can see it in your eyes. You want a real man that can fuck you just like you _need._"

He reached down then, groping the front of Dean's pants, squeezing at his cock roughly. All rational thought abandoned Dean, replaced instantaneously with an unrequited fury that crashed through him and burned a red haze of rage into the the edges of his vision.

"Get your fucking hands OFF me!" he screamed, using all of his strength to shove Vincent back.

The shorter man hit the opposite wall with enough force to shake the metal with a dull ringing thud. His eyes narrowed to obsidian slits. "You'll take it and you'll fucking like it, you little shit," he snarled, advancing toward Dean again, a sneer curling his upper lip.

But this time Dean was ready. He grabbed two fistfuls of Vincent's shirt and pushed him back through the closed stall door. It smashed open under his weight hard enough to obliterate the small lock in a shower of twisted metal pieces.

Vincent stumbled backward but somehow managed to keep his feet underneath him. Dean rushed him, smashing Vincent's lower back into a sink and laying down punches to his fat gut with a mindless anger, hardly even feeling the pain lancing through his knuckles with each impact.

Vincent blocked a few of the hits, bringing his fists up to lay a blow across Dean's chin, splitting his lip. The hot, metallic taste of blood exploded across Dean's tongue, driving his rage even higher. He stumbled back a step and then plowed forward again, grabbing Vincent's ears and shoving him face first into a knee. The memory of that day in the holding cell, when Vincent had tried to take from Dean what he would never have given him freely, blotted out everything else. Gone were the other men in the restroom that tried to pull the two apart amidst shouts to break it up. Gone were the calls for security.

Dean and Vincent continued to lay into each other, Dean making much more contact than Vincent ever did, and they suddenly found themselves up against the bathroom door, each pushing against it for leverage. And then it gave way with a loud bang as it bounced back against the floor, spilling them out and into the club.

Across the room, Sam noticed the scuffle as he made his way back to their spot from the bar. A circle had formed near the bathroom and the diva on stage was making a joke of the fist fights and Argentina. Being that tall had its perks as he could see over the heads crowding the brawlers. He dropped both cups when he saw Dean as he was yanked from the floor and shoved against the bathroom door frame. His assailant helped another heavier man up from the floor before the two turned back to attack Dean together.

Sam pushed his way through the onlookers, his heart in his throat, as Dean took one to the gut but blocked another to his face. He burst through the last ring as Dean kicked one man into the crowd and right against Sam. He turned the skinny man quickly and planted his fist against the side of the man's head, knocking him down and stepping over him. Dean grabbed a bottle from another bystander and cracked it over the fat man's skull and they watched together as he crumpled to the floor as well.

Sam gave his opponent one more kick, insurance against his returning to the fray, but it was Dean that was bloodthirsty. He fell down to straddle the fat man, his knees holding his hands against the floor, as one angry punch after another came crashing down like hammers against the man's face. Blood splattered across Dean's shirt, red freckles against the grey henley. The intensity etched onto Dean's face wrapped a frozen hand around Sam's heart, fear gripping him sharp and hard.

"Dean!" he called out. "DEAN!"

Dean finally stopped his beating and leaned over the man a moment longer, panting and shaking from the exertion. "Fuck yourself, Walsh," he growled, venom falling from his lips.

"What?" Sam asked, not comprehending any of this, and pulled Dean back by his shoulders. "Come on, Dean."

A team of security guards finally swarmed through the crowd, pulling the two broken men from the floor and grabbing Sam and Dean by their arms. Still energized, Dean ripped free and made another run for Vincent.

"Don't you_ ever_ touch-" but Dean's words were cut short as Sam grabbed him by the waist, dragging him literally kicking and screaming away from the men.

"Dean, stop!" Sam cried out again. Their brawl having interrupted the drag show, silence fell over the bar. What looked to be the security lead gave Sam a push toward the door.

"Look, the witnesses said these guys started this. We'll clean it up. Just get him out of here." His grim face left no room for argument and Sam guided Dean away.

Cheers and jeers followed them to the door and Sam was humiliated as they were tossed out onto the sidewalk. Dean paced a small circle before unleashing a feral roar into the night air then made yet another run, this one for the door.

"Dammit, Dean," Sam huffed, grabbing the furious man by the back of his shirt and pulling him into the alley between buildings. His own anger bubbling, Sam hauled Dean past a dumpster and then shoved him hard against the cold brick wall before demanding, "What the _fuck_ was that?!"

Dean pushed Sam away at first, growling with the rage that was obviously still gripping him, then grabbed his shirt front to pull Sam in close, pressing their foreheads together. He let out a rough but calming breath before answering.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but I told you that I'm not a nice man." Dean's voice was a low whisper filled with a mingling of anger and remorse. He wrapped his arms around Sam, suddenly starving for the comfort he'd felt not twenty minutes before. "He… he wouldn't take no for an answer."

Sam felt his own anger melting. What could that man have said to drive Dean to such fury and violence? Was this outburst a regular occurrence for the fearsome creature in his arms? Was Dean always that dangerous?

Sam closed his eyes against his fears, wishing them away and gulping for air, knowing he was about to break the first rule he had ever learned in law school - only ask questions you already know the answers to - but needing to do it anyway. "Dean, is there anything else you need to tell me?" he whispered hoarsely.

But instead of any answer at all, that shuttered and angry vulnerability flashed in Dean's eyes again and he reached up to clasp Sam's shoulders and yank him forward. Sam had to brace his hands on the alley wall to stop himself from stumbling. He was minutely aware of the rough scratch of the bricks against his palms where they pressed on either side of Dean's head.

And then Dean's mouth was assaulting his, his tongue thrusting in deep with powerful and unrelenting strokes, stabbing against his teeth and gums and licking up at his soft palate. Sam nearly choked around the sudden and unexpected intrusion, his subconscious brain shouting out a singular protest at Dean's evasion:_ Answer the goddamn question, Dean!_

Sam pushed back from the kiss, panting ragged breaths, his hands still against the wall, about to give voice to that mental demand, to force Dean to answer, but his words caught in his throat and filtered from his mouth in a strangled moan.

Dean was looking up at him through his lashes, green eyes blown nearly to black with arousal, a hell of a shiner already darkening his right cheek, and his fat lip trickling out a fresh well of blood from the rough kiss they had just shared. He looked dangerous and desperate and reckless - a combination that filled Sam's cock and emptied out any rational thoughts in one dizzying rush and he couldn't for the life of him remember why the hell he had just pulled back from that wounded and perfect mouth. If Dean was stalling, he wouldn't be this aroused, would he? Would Sam?

Sam surged forward, seizing Dean's jaw and holding his head still while his tongue darted out to lick up the thin trickle of blood running down Dean's chin. The taste of it was sharp and dark and devastatingly alive and it obliterated the very last vestiges of his already waning self-control. He pressed Dean back into the wall and his mouth found Dean's again, plundering as deeply as Dean had done only moments before.

Pure unadulterated _want_ sparked across every inch of Dean's skin like electric fire from that kiss, heating his blood and expanding his already hardening cock, and he let out a low, hoarse whimper into Sam's open and ravaging mouth.

Through the explosion of desire their kisses released, Dean formed a plan. Sam had come close, far too close, to finding out the hidden truth of Dean's past and while he knew on some level that it would all come to light eventually, he had every intention of holding it off for as long as possible; it was purely for selfish reasons and Dean damn well knew it. Losing Sam was not something he was prepared to do, now or ever, if he had anything to say about it. And since he already knew how easy it was to distract Sam, and even though he felt an uneasy twinge of guilt pinch at his heart for even considering it, Dean decided that his best course of action would be to take Sam's curious mind off those questions in the only way he knew how.

He tore his mouth away from Sam's, nuzzling into the sweaty curve of his neck, and flattened out his tongue to lathe a hot wet stripe of saliva all along the thudding pulse hidden just under the surface of his skin.

"I need you, Sammy. I need you so fuckin' bad," he rasped, dragging his hands down Sam's chest and belly and stopping to cup the bulge straining in his jeans.

Sam gasped, jerking his hips forward into the touch. "Let me take you back to my place," he said on a moan. "I can get us there in five minutes."

Dean shook his head, humping his crotch forward to nudge his straining erection right up against Sam's. "Here, Sammy, fuck me right here. I can't wait, not even five goddamn_ seconds_."

Sam stilled, the prospect of getting caught making him tense, and he tried pulling back but Dean held him in close. "Here, Dean? I - I don't know if -"

"Yes, Sammy. Right here, right fuckin' now." Dean paused for effect, lowering his voice as he continued. "Make me forget."

Sam was still uncertain, but he drug the tip of his nose against the sensitive flesh behind Dean's ear, washing his neck in a hot breath when he panted, "Forget what, Dean?"

Dean swallowed hard, knowing he might be pushing it too far, but not willing to stop at the of risk losing Sam to a past he couldn't change even though he'd tried. "Make me forget his hands on me, Sam."

Sam did pull back then, looking down at Dean with confused shock before the hazel was awash with an intense jealousy. "Who? That guy in there? Dean, did he…"

"I told you he wouldn't take no for an answer, Sammy."

The rage that had overtaken Dean in the bar came rushing back at the memory of Vincent crowding him into that stall, the memory of what he had tried so many years before that. He felt Sam's eyes on him as the fury burned through him in a cresting and violent wave of fire the left him vulnerable and shaking. And then he framed Sam's face with his hands, lurching forward to take his mouth again, wordlessly offering up a plea for Sam to reclaim him.

Sam parted his lips with a growl, his hands shaking now with territorial anger and an impatient need to mark his turf. He pried himself away from Dean and took a step back towards to the street, intent on making a much more definite impression on the disgusting loser that had the nerve to touch what was his alone. Dean read Sam's intent immediately and caressed his cheek, turning his face back to his own.

"I'm mad too, Sam," he made his voice small and pleading, "but I need you here."

Reluctantly, Sam relented and let Dean pull him back into the shadow of the wall, but the pulsing need to defend, mark and own pounded in his fevered head. Sam leaned in, letting his need melt into a demanding kiss that threatened to suffocate them both.

"He'll never touch you again, Dean," Sam vowed against the corner of Dean's mouth, shoving him roughly back against the brick wall. "Nobody will."

A powerful and turbulent flood of arousal wracked through Dean at the possessiveness of Sam's words, his ploy working as intensely on himself as on Sam, and he suddenly found himself being turned to face the wall behind him. He splayed his hands out against the jagged surface of the cold bricks, canting his ass back enticingly. He moaned shamelessly when Sam's large hand came around, squeezing and massaging at his dick through his jeans. A thick blurt of precome soaked the front of Dean's boxers and he shivered with a violent jerk.

Sam's body covered Dean's, pressing forward until Dean's cheek was flat against the cold wall. And then that hand undid Dean's fly, with the other coming around to yank his jeans and boxers down to his thighs in one fluid movement, baring his ass to the cool night air.

And then Sam's voice was suddenly in his ear, heavy and insistent when he said, "I'm gonna make you come so hard, my name will be the _only_ thing you'll remember."

Dean almost came from those words alone. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled in a deep breath that was full of damp Houston air and Sam's aftershave and he whimpered.

"Please, Sammy," he begged, tucking his chin to hide he lustful grin.

There was a grunt behind him, followed by the rustle of Sam's clothes and the sound of a thick wad of saliva splatting into Sam's palm. Dean pushed his ass back, about ready to fucking explode if Sam didn't fill him up soon.

He didn't have to wait long at all because in the very next second one of Sam's hands was gripping his left hip and the fat, swollen head of his huge dick was pressing in between the cleft of his ass cheeks. Sam nudged his spit-slick cockhead over Dean's hole, spreading the moisture around the furled entrance, which was thankfully still partially stretched from their romp earlier that morning.

Sam pushed forward without another moment's hesitation, thrusting his cock deep up in Dean's ass. Dean let out a hiss at the burn and forced his body to relax, to accept and loosen around the intrusion of Sam's monster dick. He kept his hands splayed wide on the wall and felt one of Sam's come up to grip the back of his neck, using Dean's body as a leverage against the thrusts that he quickly began exacting with a frantic snap of his hips.

The rough brick scraped against Dean's cheek where it was still pressed against the wall with each deep plunge and he sobbed out a keening moan when Sam angled lower, hitting his prostate with rapid stabs on each upstroke.

"Oh fuck,_ Sammy_," he cried, doing his best to hump back into the brutal pace Sam had set, but losing momentum when his his entire lower half tightened.

"You gonna come for me, Dean?" he panted against the back of Dean's neck. "Oh yeah, I can feel it. You're gonna come. For me and _only_ me."

Sam's hand was suddenly wrapping around Dean's neglected and agonizingly hard cock, jacking it with dry but absolutely necessary strokes that brought Dean to the very cusp of orgasm with only three pumps of his fist.

He cried out for Sam as he came, draining what felt like his entire body out through the end of his spasming dick, painting the brick wall white with his spend. And he really did forget everything else then, everything but Sam, who was all around him, deep inside him, so close to him in that moment that Dean didn't know where he ended and Sam began.

Sam felt Dean sag forward against the wall and he had to bring an arm around his waist to hold him up, still fucking deep into his ass, chasing frantically after his own orgasm. Dean's hole was completely loose now, fucked open and lax, offering no resistance at all for Sam's thrusts. He growled deep and low, snapping his hips up roughly, so fucking close now.

And then Dean was looking back at Sam over his shoulder, a smile Sam couldn't quite see glinting in his eye as Sam continued pounding into him. He reached his hand back, feeding his fingers into Sam's slack mouth and Sam's eyes flew open wide at the sudden taste of Dean's come as it dissolved salty and bitter across his tongue. The utter unexpectedness of it punched the orgasm right out of him.

He pulled Dean close against him with one arm, the other braced against the wall, and slammed up inside of him as deep as he could go, releasing his load in a hot, pulsing rush. He shuddered and buried his face against Dean's back, his arms tightening into a rib crushing bear hug. Sam pressed them both flush to the wall, his hand protecting Dean's spent cock from the brick, letting them gasp for breath through the final cresting waves of the pleasure induced high. Moments passed in a blissful silence disturbed only by the faint pounding of music from the long forgotten club.

And then Dean felt it. He felt Sam tense and go rigid against his back before pulling out and away.

"Oh my god, Dean. I'm so sorry," Sam's green eyed monster now appeased, he stared as his cum dripped down the inside of Dean's thighs. The sight took his breath away but a paralyzing fear closed his throat and no more words would come to him. As he watched Dean pull up his boxers and jeans, quickly following suit, guilt and Sam's familiar friend, insecurity, whispered to him about stupidity, selfishness and parting ways.

"Don't be," was Dean's reply, nonchalant and relaxed. "I would have stopped you if I didn't want you to, baby boy." They'd been so careful up until now, using protection every time, Dean was insistent, but his smile was almost a drunken one as he leaned back against the wall, a hand held out to pull Sam to him.

"I don't want to sound like _that_ asshole, but you make me crazy, Dean," Sam was almost whining as he leaned his head down and against the crook of Dean's neck, his voice now muffled. "I don't think when I want you. Everything else gets jumbled and cloudy and all I can think about is you."

Sam felt the rumble of Dean's laugh and, when he looked up, felt the need to explain himself. "I'm clean, I promise. I get checked every year like clockwork." His brows knitted together in that face that made Dean melt.

"Who doesn't, Sam?" he asked gently. "We probably should have talked about this first, but I wasn't really thinking either. I'm safe too so you don't need to worry."

Dean searched his face for a sign of relief but tears welled up in Sam's eyes instead as understanding had him nod his head in agreement. How was Sam able to flip like this? It made Dean's head spin and he folded Sam against him again._ You should protect him, not lie to him,_ the thought whispered in Dean's mind,_ especially if..._

"Just think of all the money we'll save on condoms," Dean joked and he pushed Sam back just enough to plant a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. "Let's go home, Gigantor. We can play some more if you're up to it."

Sam blushed at that and let himself be lead back down the alley and towards the car. He wiped his face with his free hand and working the tension of unshed tears from his jaw. He wasn't able to voice what he felt about this impromptu triste; he'd had an epiphany as he watched the evidence of his desire slide down Dean's thigh. He kept his mouth shut as they walked, a new word bouncing in his head that complimented "beautiful" and "insatiable." It was a four letter word that he was not yet able to accept. A four letter word that happened to start with an **L**.


End file.
